


Tiger Lilies

by Emospritelet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Stargate Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dirty Talk, F/M, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Sex Toys, Smut, Spanking, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teacher/Student Roleplay, escort!Gold verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-02 16:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8674957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: Lacey French has what may be termed a difficult relationship with her college professor, Dr Rush.  When browsing the website of a high-class escort service, she sees a man who looks just like him, and decides to work out some of her frustrations by hiring him for the evening.  Winner of Best Anyelle fic in The Espenson Awards 2017





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in my established escort!Gold verse, but assuming that Gold hasn't met Belle. Rush is his usual sarcastic arsehole self.

Considering that it was eleven-thirty in the morning, and most of the students should have been in class, there was an unwarranted amount of noise in the university corridors, at least as far as Lacey French was concerned.  She pressed cool fingertips to her forehead, where it felt as though a troupe of clog-dancers were practising a routine.  Badly.  It had been a late night; at least she presumed it had been late - she had lost the ability to focus on her watch at one point.  She had a vague memory of throwing up in the toilet of a strange dorm room, and the queasiness was still there, so much so that she had passed on her usual morning coffee.  Her head was pounding, a dull thump behind her eyes as she made her way along the corridor in her usual short, tight dress and high heels.  Adjusting her oversized sunglasses to cut out as much light as she could helped with the headache a little, but she couldn’t avoid the simple, painful truth.  She couldn’t handle tequila.

It had been Ruby’s fault, of course.  Granted, _she_ had been the one to suggest that they play a drinking game with that bunch of stupid frat boys, but it was Ruby who had spotted the tequila and suggested that they use that.  Oh, and of course it was _she_ who had suggested that they go out drinking in the first place, but if Ruby hadn’t dragged her into that dive bar, they would never have met the frat boys.  So really, she was an innocent in all this.  Ruby had spent the entire night making calf-eyes at that Dorothy girl anyway, so she had had to entertain herself for the most part.  With shots.  Luckily Dorothy had enough room at her place for them all to crash, once the frat boys had been sent on their way, and Lacey had been too drunk to hear any of what Ruby and Dorothy had gotten up to, which was a plus as far as she was concerned.  She had left the two of them sleeping, and had made her way to class, about as late as it was possible to be and still call it morning.

Of course, that morning’s class _would_ have to be taught by Dr Rush, wouldn’t it?

Whenever anyone asked her why the hell she had chosen to study astrophysics, she would make something up about meaning to pick anthropology and checking the wrong box due to being hungover.  The truth was she actually found the subject interesting.  She might even have wanted to study it further, had the man teaching it not been such a bloody pain in the arse.  Dr Rush was sarcastic, incredibly rude and impatient, but he was also brilliant, and fascinating to watch in class.  When she could manage to drag her ass there.

She applied the same attitude to all her classes, and consequently her grades hadn’t been anything to shout about.  While she would never admit it, while she tried to hide it and claimed that she was only in college because her dad had made her go, she knew that she was clever.  ‘Clever’ didn’t cut it with Maurice French, though.  He ran a highly successful tech company out of Delaware, capitalising on his inventiveness to produce popular apps and components.  The company took up most of his time, and he had never been the most attentive of fathers, but he had encouraged her in education.  When her mother died, shortly after Lacey’s seventh birthday, he had buried himself in his work even more, and his daughter had tried to emulate him in the vain hope that it would pull him back to her.

She had spent her pre-pubescent years excelling at every class, desperate for his praise, for validation.  The straight-A grades she obtained were routine, dull, never worthy of mention.  The odd, unexpected B, though…  Well, that was the end of the world, according to some.  She could still remember the aftermath of every school report that contained the hated grade.  She had been made to sit in the middle of the spacious lounge floor, on a stool brought from the kitchen breakfast bar, ankles crossed, head bowed and hands folded in her lap, while her father read out every word of the report and emphasised exactly where she ‘needed to improve’.  The awful, squirming shame of it had stayed with her.

By the time she turned twelve, she realised that nothing she did was ever going to be good enough, so she stopped trying.  She did just enough work to get by in her classes without it being obvious that she was coasting, and she couldn’t work out whether her average grades were to spite her father or because she really couldn’t be bothered.  She supposed it didn’t matter.  Her trust fund paid out enough that she would never have to work, so all she was doing was killing time until she turned twenty-five, could use some of the capital to buy herself a kick-ass apartment, and finally call herself a real adult.  Disappointing for dear old Dad, of course, but she’d never asked for the pressure of being an only child with a highly successful father who was never around anyway.

Thinking about the happy day when she would finally be independent (which was unfortunately still over five years away) took up a minute or two as she made her way along to the third floor auditorium where her astrophysics class would have started half an hour earlier.  She paused outside the door to peer through the rectangular pane of glass, her sunglasses turning the colours in the room dull and muted.  

Rush was striding back and forth at the front of the class in his usual jeans and shirt, a thick leather belt with a wide silver buckle at his waist.  The shirt was white today, open at the neck, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, his hands gesturing emphatically as he spoke.  His hair was messy where he had run his fingers through it, his glasses reflecting the light as he shook it out of his eyes, and he was spouting some crap about star formation that she now wished she’d done the reading for.  Stubble covered his cheeks and chin, silver hairs showing through with the brown, and she imagined that he often got so engrossed in his work that he forgot to shave.  Or sleep.  Say what you liked about the man (and she had, at length, with excessive use of the F-word), he was dedicated to his work.  Hopefully that meant that he would be distracted enough by what he was talking about to enable her to slip into a seat unseen.

Teasing open the door, she sidled around it, making her way silently down the steps of the auditorium to the first available seat.

“Ah, it appears we have a visitor!”

Rush’s voice cut across the room, his accent making his r’s roll a little, and Lacey froze.   _Fuck!_

“So good of you to join us, Miss - “  He clicked his fingers in the air.  “Remind me who you are again?”

She clenched her jaw.   _Asshole_.

“Lacey,” she said stiffly.  “Lacey French.” _Like you don’t fucking know after you chewed my ass out for being late last fucking week._

“Of course.  Miss French.”  He was giving her a snide smile.  “I didn’t recognise you, what with it being before noon.  Have a seat.”

Glowering, she stumbled down the last few steps, pushing her sunglasses up her nose, and dropped her bag of books onto the seat as she shrugged off her coat.  She was beginning to wish that she’d followed the first idea she’d had that morning and skipped the entire fucking class.

“No doubt you’re as well prepared as always, Miss French,” he went on, the arrogant little shit.  “So you’ll have the paper I asked you to prepare all ready to submit, yes?”

He patted a pile of papers on his desk with the flat of his hand, and Lacey pulled at her lower lip with her teeth, annoyed with herself.  It was because of the stress caused by trying to write that stupid paper that she’d wanted to go out and blow off a little steam.  She had told Ruby she’d finish it in the morning, and Ruby had warned her that wouldn’t happen.   _Dammit!_

“Yeah, I didn’t quite manage to finish that,” she said carelessly, and Rush stared at her, unblinking.

“But of course you did the reading for _this_ class, didn’t you?” he went on, with a sarcastic smile twisting his mouth.  “So you can explain to the rest of your fellow students what diffuse nebulae are.”

Lacey opened and closed her mouth as several of her classmates chuckled at her discomfort.  Wishing a painful death on them all, she shrugged.

“Fucked if I know,” she said cheerfully, and there were snorts of laughter.  Rush’s mouth thinned.

“See me after class, Miss French,” he said coldly.  “If you think it’s even worth your while to sit through it.”

Scowling, she took her seat, taking out her books and glaring at his back as he resumed his lecture.  One thing you could say about Rush, he never seemed to care when the students swore.  Of course, he had a mouth like a sewer at times himself.  When he was particularly irate, he’d even used words _she_ wouldn’t say.  Idly, she wondered if he liked talking dirty during sex, and chewed her lip in confusion as she wondered where _that_ stray thought had come from.  Shaking her head, she tried to follow what he was saying, now that he had launched back into his lecture.  Truth be told she felt a little bad for interrupting him, and she supposed she only had herself to blame for not doing the work, but there was no need for him to be an arse about it.  The man must have been nineteen at some point, and she imagined he’d had more than one hangover in his time.

She tried to concentrate for the rest of the lesson, knowing that she was going to have to work to catch up, and hating the idea.  All too soon, however, the class was over, and she felt her jaw clench as she readied herself for the inevitable confrontation.  Given that she found his class the most interesting, and certainly Rush the best teacher, out of all her classes, she couldn’t understand why she seemed to blow off the work so often.  It was almost as though she _wanted_ him to yell at her.  Sighing, she packed up her things with everyone else, and then sat still in her seat as the other students filed out of the lecture hall.  

Rush had seated himself behind the desk, writing something in one of those little pads he seemed to carry everywhere.  She wondered what he was scribbling; if it was anything about her, she doubted it was complimentary.  She waited, unexpected nerves making her skin crawl until she tamped them down.  That was odd; she didn’t usually feel this way when blowing off class or study.  She knew when she was in the wrong, but she rarely felt bad about it.  Still, she’d apologise and say it wouldn’t happen again, and she’d do the stupid paper he had set by next week, and that would be the end of it.  At last Rush raised his head, the light glinting off his glasses, and beckoned to her.  Curling her lip, she pushed up out of her seat, leaving her bag on it, and stalked down to the front of class to stand before him.

“Take off your glasses,” he said, and she reluctantly removed them, glowering at him.  The lights were too fucking bright in this place, and it only made her head hurt more.  Rush glared back.

“You were half an hour late,” he said, without preamble.  “You failed to complete the piece of work I set.  You were woefully unprepared for the class, and the one time I happened to glance your way, you were doodling on your papers.”

Lacey shrugged.  “I’m the creative type.  Doodling helps me think.”

“May I ask why you chose this class, Miss French?” he asked dryly.  “As I understand it the football players and their wannabe girlfriends and the others who can’t be fucking bothered always pick geology for their science option, so would you please explain to me why I’m stuck with you?”

Lacey bristled, putting hands on hips.

“Do I look like I want to be a bloody football player’s girlfriend?” she snapped, and his eyebrows rose, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

“Well, your attendance has been such that I could barely remember _what_ you looked like,” he said nastily.  “Did you think you could pass this class by fucking correspondence?”

“I was here _last week_!” she protested hotly.

“Yes.  Late.  And you blithely informed me that you hadn’t done the reading because you were ‘up all night at some guy’s house party and had the mother of all hangovers’,” he said, sarcasm hardening his voice.

“Oh right, like _you_ never got wrecked as a student!” she scoffed, and he frowned at her.

“Of course I did!” he said sharply.  “But I knew the difference between an occasional night on the tiles and borderline fucking alcoholism, and I always did the bloody work!”

Lacey squared her jaw, stung by his displeasure and wanting to lash out to counter it.

“Well, I bet your parents thought the sun shone out of your arse!” she snapped.  “Not everyone’s a total nerd, you know.  Some of us actually have a social life.”

He was silent for a moment, tapping his pen on the papers in front of him in what she recognised was barely-restrained anger.  A strange thrill was tingling through her body, and she tried to grasp at it, to interpret it.

“Look, if you want to stumble through your years at university, destroying your fucking liver in the process, I couldn’t give a shite,” he said abruptly.  

His accent had thickened.  Interesting.

“You want to waste your precious time, Miss French, that’s up to you,” he went on.  “But I draw the line at you wasting mine.  I expect you to be in class on time with the work I set completed to a good standard.  I really don’t think that’s too much to fucking ask.”

“Well, it seems like I live to disappoint every man in my life who wants to tell me what to do, doesn’t it?” she drawled, leaning on the desk.

“I’m not disappointed,” he said flatly.  “Just angry.”

Lacey rolled her eyes.

“Look, I said I was sorry…”

“Actually, no, you didn’t.”

“...but I’ll do the stupid reading, okay?  I’ll get the paper to you by Monday.  Wednesday, tops.”

“You’ll have that bloody piece of work on my desk by Friday!” he snapped, and she straightened up, folding her arms.

“Or what, you’ll spank me?”

Rush looked at her, his eyes narrowing above the rims of his glasses, and she curled her lip.

“I bet you fucking would, wouldn’t you?”

“Get out,” he said coldly.  “Before I really fucking lose my temper.”

Lacey leaned on the desk again, arms rigid, fully aware that her open shirt was displaying an impressive amount of cleavage and that the bastard would be able to tell what colour bra she had on if he only dropped his eyes a fraction.

“Wouldn’t mind seeing that,” she said coyly, her lips twisting in a smirk.  He maintained his steady gaze, his dark eyes fixed on hers.  God, the man had to be made of _stone_!

“Get.  Out,” he said, through gritted teeth, and she scowled, shoving back from the table and stomping off to snatch up her bag of books.

“Friday, Miss French!” he called after her.  “My office, five o’clock at the latest!”

“Sure thing, Dr Rush!” she sang, shoving open the door.  “Go fuck yourself with a cactus, Dr Rush,” she muttered, as it closed behind her.  

Dammit, now she had two days to do that fucking paper.  Why the hell had she decided to go out drinking in the first fucking place?

 

0000

 

“Because you were horny and, may I quote: _‘just needed a damn good lay’_ ,” remarked Ruby, later that evening when Lacey posed the question.

“Yeah, well, that didn’t work out, did it?” she grumbled.

She was lying on the bed on her front, feet kicked up behind her and crossed at the ankles, and her laptop open in front of her.  She had completed some of the work for her paper, and the reading had made her head hurt.  Bloody Rush and his bloody deadlines!  It had been interesting, though, she couldn’t deny that.

“Campus bars are a magnet for frat boys,” said Ruby.  “I told you we should go somewhere else.  That is if you’re looking for more than a quick grope from someone who has no interest in whether _you_ enjoy yourself.”

“Like _you_ got, you mean?”  Lacey raised her head with a grin, and Ruby actually blushed a little.

“Dorothy’s pretty cool,” she admitted.  “We’re going out on Friday, actually.”

Lacey pulled a face, looking put-upon.

“Rubes!  That’s girls’ night!”

“I know.”  Ruby looked a little guilty.  “We could go out Saturday, instead.  It’s just Friday’s the only night this week she can get off.  Do you mind?”

“Guess not,” grumbled Lacey, tucking a curl of chestnut hair behind her ear.  “I just thought you could be my wingwoman, that’s all.  Still got an itch that needs scratching.”

“So go out and rope yourself a stallion,” suggested Ruby, pouring a glass of wine and handing it to her.  Lacey pushed herself up on her hands, sitting up and swinging her legs around before taking the glass.

“In this place?” she scoffed.  “It’s full of mules!”

Ruby winced, giggling.  “Harsh.”

“Every straight guy I see in this college is either gross, a misogynist, or has already fucked one of my friends,” Lacey complained.  “Plus they probably all have at least one STD.”

“Well, that’s true,” acknowledged Ruby.  “You know that Keith guy that was hitting on you the other week?  Ariel saw him coming out of the clinic looking like his world had ended.”

Lacey curled her lip, flopping back on the bed.

“Ugh, men _suck_!”

“Preaching to the choir, honey.”  Ruby raised her glass.

“Unfortunately I also like the way they feel and smell,” added Lacey, and giggled as Ruby pulled a face.  “I wish there was a way to guarantee a no-strings good time.  Where I don’t have to, like, sit in a bath of disinfectant afterwards.”

“Yeah, you’d have to pay for that, I think,” said Ruby, and winked at her.  “You want to order pizza tonight?  My treat.”

“Sure.”  

Lacey watched her go, frowning.  Pay for it.  Why the hell hadn’t she considered that option before?  The frat boys and sleazes in the campus bars would no doubt consider sex workers to be the lowest of the low, but she certainly didn’t.  As with all service industries, if one had the resources to pay for the best (which she did) one could by and large be assured of an excellent result.  It was highly likely that she’d be able to hire a man who was not only skilled, but also free of disease.  And he’d be interesting; she could insist that he had something between his ears, as well as his legs.  Plus, he’d be focused on _her_ needs, which, quite frankly, would make a bloody change from the idiots she usually ended up with.

Sitting up and taking a slurp of her wine, she pulled the laptop towards her, leaning back against the pillows and making herself more comfortable.  It took a surprisingly short amount of searching before she found her way to a site called Blue Star Escort Services.  Pursing her lips, she began reading.

“I ordered that hot one you like.”  Ruby’s voice made her look up.

“Oh.  Good, I’m starving.”  She turned her attention back to the screen.

“What are you doing?”  Ruby crawled onto the bed beside her, her wine coming close to spilling as she flopped against the pillows.

“Looking to hire a guy to bang me so hard I forget my own name,” said Lacey vaguely.  Ruby snickered.

“I was kidding, you know,” she said, and Lacey turned to her with a grin.

“No, it’s a great idea!  I’d be safe, he’d be clean, and he’d be damn good at his job, right?”

“I - guess.”  Ruby squinted at the screen.  “Is that an escort agency?”

“Yeah.  Sounds pretty good.  You have to call for further details of the escorts.  Give me the phone.”

“Lacey…”  Ruby shot her a warning look, and Lacey opened and closed her hand impatiently.

“Rubes, come on!  I got you that kick-ass fake ID, remember?  At least be supportive of my wild and adventurous nature!”

“I _am_ ,” said Ruby pointedly.  “Wasn’t that the reason you were late for class this morning?”

“And also the reason you finally got to kiss Dorothy last night, so gimme!”

“Fine,” sighed Ruby, getting off the bed.  “If nothing else, it’ll be something to talk about with the girls on Saturday night, I guess.  You know, if you can walk straight.”

“Hilarious.”  

Lacey winked as she took the phone from Ruby’s outstretched hand and dialled the number.  It rang three times before being picked up.

“Blue Star Escort Services, how may I help you?” enquired a cool female voice.

“Uh - hey,” said Lacey uncertainly.  “I - um - I’m thinking about booking an escort.”

“Of course,” said the woman.  “Would you prefer a lady or a gentleman?”

Lacey didn’t think she’d ever met a gentleman in her life.  The word sounded adorably quaint, as though Mr Darcy was going to call on her to take tea and fuck her senseless over the pianoforte.

“Oh - yeah, I want a man,” she confirmed.

“Did you have anything particular in mind?”

Lacey sucked her teeth.  “Well, he can’t be stupid,” she said finally.  “I don’t know, I guess I haven’t really thought this through.  Do you have any pictures?”

“The agency takes the privacy of its employees very seriously,” said the woman, her tone still light and pleasant.  “You’d need to agree to our terms and conditions, and pay a deposit, before I could release that information.”

“Oh.”  Lacey tucked the phone between her neck and shoulder, and tapped at the keyboard.  “Okay, I’m registering - do I use my own name?”

“That’s entirely up to you.”

“Guess it doesn’t matter.”  She typed in _Lacey French_ , answered a few more questions, and entered her credit card details.  An acknowledgement flashed up on the website.

“Thank you, Miss French.  If you click on the link at the top right, you’ll be able to see what we have to offer,” said the woman.  “I can make my own recommendations, of course, if that’s what you’d prefer.”

Lacey shared an amused look with Ruby, who was watching avidly.  She clicked on the link, and an artfully-shot picture of a handsome man popped up.  He had short, curling hair and a stylish growth of stubble.  Lacey read the name beneath.   _Mr Wolf_.

“Okay, so your Mr Wolf’s very pretty, but I don’t know…”  She chewed her lip.

“He’s one of our most popular escorts, but perhaps Mr Silver might be more to your taste.”

The next picture showed a man with black hair and blue eyes.  He was grinning wickedly, showing very white teeth.  Lacey wrinkled her nose.

“Kinda reminds me of Keith,” whispered Ruby, and Lacey nodded.

“Nah, he looks a little sleazy,” she said.  “No offence.”

“None taken,” said the woman.  “You said you wanted intelligence.  Perhaps someone a little more mature?  Mr Devine is another of our most popular escorts.  He has many excellent qualities.”

Lacey clicked on the next picture, and blinked.

“Holy crap, it’s _Rush_!” whispered Ruby, pressing a hand to her mouth.

Lacey was about to agree, but then frowned, staring more closely at the picture.  The man gazing calmly back looked an awful lot like Rush, to be sure.  Same long hair, same high cheekbones and brown eyes.  He was clean-shaven, though, and looked as though he got a good meal and a decent night’s sleep every now and then.  He was dressed impeccably, in what looked like a three-piece suit with a silk shirt and tie.  It wasn’t Rush.  Just someone who looked a lot like him.  Maybe he had a twin brother or something, the black sheep of the family that sold his body to the highest bidder while Rush was a respected academic.  Although if that was the case he probably earned way more as a prostitute than Rush did as a college professor.  She pursed her lips.  It seemed as though his dark eyes were fixed on her, and she remembered how Rush’s had been, how they had flashed with anger when she had snapped back at him.  How she had said he’d probably spank her.  How a dark little part of her mind had been thinking about how that might feel.

She adjusted the phone, her heart thumping, her breath misting on the black plastic of the receiver.

“Does Mr Devine take requests?”


	2. Chapter 2

Gold got the call when he was preparing dinner.  He had made a creamy garlic mushroom sauce to go with the chicken and broccoli that was cooking, and he moved the pan off the heat, licking a blob of sauce from his thumb before pulling his cellphone from his back pocket and swiping at the screen to answer it.

“Miss Blue,” he said.  “A very good evening to you.”

“And to you, Mr Gold.  I have an assignment for you.  Friday night.”

Gold sighed to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose to clear tired eyes.

“I was planning on taking Friday off,” he said.  “Who is it?”

“A young lady by the name of Lacey French,” she said.  “I think that’s actually her real name.  She says money’s no object.  Paid upfront for four hours.  Plus extras.”

He pursed his lips.  That would mean he would only have to work two nights next week, if he wanted.  Perhaps he could take the whole weekend off, go and see Neal.  He picked up the glass of white wine he had poured.

“What extras?” he asked, taking a drink.

“She’d like you to play the part of a college professor,” said Blue, and Gold blinked.

“Ah,” he said weakly.   _Well, could have been worse.  Could have been a high school teacher._

“She’s asked that you wear a shirt and jeans,” added Blue.  “And she says that you don’t need to shave.”

Gold frowned.  Unusual, but not unheard of.  He hoped and prayed it wasn’t one of his own students who had somehow found out his secret.

“She doesn’t live in Storybrooke, does she?” he asked warily.

“No, no, it’s a Boston address,” she assured him.

“Hmm.”  That was a relief, at least.

“Also she’d like a little light BDSM,” said Blue.  “Spanking, mainly.”

“Very well.”  He took another sip of his wine.  “Where and when?”

“She’s booking a room at _The Agrabah_ ,” said Blue, and he nodded appreciatively.   _Money no object, indeed._

“I wouldn’t be able to get to Boston much before eight,” he said.  “Nine would be better.”

“Good, that was my suggestion.  Shall I tell her you’ll be there?”

“I’ll take the job,” he confirmed.  “Please give Miss French my warmest regards, and tell her I look forward to meeting her.”

“I will.  Enjoy your evening, Mr Gold.”

“Thank you, Miss Blue.”

He hung up, pondering.  He had done role-play many times before, of course, but not as a teacher.  Somehow he doubted that college professors wore three-piece designer suits and silk shirts.  Which would mean wearing his everyday clothes for this particular role.  Sighing to himself, he put down his glass, set the pan of sauce back on the heat and began stirring.  Trying to keep his two lives separate was becoming harder by the day.

 

00000

 

Lacey decided to pass on another night out that week.  Her hangover had taken almost the entire day to go completely, and she slept poorly that night.  She woke with grainy eyes and an acid stomach, and resolved to take things easy until the weekend.  Besides, she still had Rush’s bloody paper to finish.   _And_ the reading he wanted them to do for next class. _And_ the preparation for her other classes.  She managed to complete everything on time, although she would be the first to admit that it was a half-assed job.  Enough to avoid getting yelled at, at least.

She made her way to Rush’s office at ten minutes to five on the Friday, paper in hand and her hips swinging as she walked, drawing furtive glances from those she passed.  Oh, she could have dropped it off that morning, but she knew that leaving it to the very last minute would get under his skin, and she was feeling petty.  She was also a little nervous about her upcoming appointment with Mr Devine, and felt that she needed a battle of wills to take her mind off things until she could go to the hotel she had booked.

She checked her watch as she approached his office door.  Two minutes.  Raising a hand, she smirked to herself, and waited another twenty seconds or so before knocking.

“Yes?”  

His voice was gruff, roughened by its daily dose of cigarettes and a seemingly endless supply of coffee, and Lacey pushed open the door, stalking into the room with her chin held high as though she was heading into battle.  Rush was scrawling equations on the whiteboards that covered his walls.  There were sticky notes plastered on them as well, each with squiggles that she couldn’t make out.  She was a little disappointed that he hadn’t been sitting at his desk, watching the door and timing her arrival with a scowl on his face.  It was almost as though he’d forgotten about her completely.

“Yo, R-Man!” she said, and waved her paper as he looked over his shoulder.  “I did the work, just like you asked.”

“That’s Dr Rush to you, Miss French,” he said dismissively, turning back to whatever he was writing.  “Leave it on the desk.”

Somewhat deflated by his lack of response, she tossed her paper onto the pile already there.  The board marker squeaked as he wrote, and she watched the way his hand moved, tendons pulling and jumping, his skin tanned where his shirtsleeves were pushed up to the elbow.  She opened and closed her mouth, unsure why the hell she was still there.  Rush glanced over at her, flicking his hair out of his face.

“Was there something else?” he asked, and she shifted from foot to foot as he looked back to the board.

“I did the work you set last class,” she ventured.  “Even did the reading.  I’m all prepped for next week.”

“I’m delighted to hear it.”  

He took a step back on his left foot to study what he’d written, tapping a whiteboard marker against his lips before cursing under his breath and swiping something out with a thumb.

“I think the work for the paper was okay,” she went on, trying to get at least _some_ reaction from him.  “I found it hard, but I got through it.”

“It’s supposed to be hard,” he said absently, and added another part to the equation, spiky writing squeaking across the board.  “I’d expect you to get a passing grade, though.  Your work has always been more or less adequate.  When you do it.”

 _Well, fucking thanks for nothing_.  

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m turning over a new leaf,” she said brightly.  “Got a big night planned tonight.  Sometimes tension gets the better of me and I have to let go and lose myself for a while, d’you know what I mean?”

“Not really.”  He brushed at the board with the heel of his hand, a black smudge from the pen staining his skin.

“Right.”  She chewed her lip.  “Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you next week in class.”

“Mm-hm,” he said vaguely, and Lacey backed away, disconsolate.  She closed the office door behind her with a careful click as the catch caught and held, turning away from his office and down the corridor she had bounced along, full of her own importance.  Her walk back was far slower.

 

00000

 

Lacey tried to distract herself by thinking about sex.  It was a tactic she had employed on many an occasion through her teenage years, and by and large it worked.  Her encounter with Rush had left her a little down, and confused about why she was down, and so she took her mind off things by preparing for her date and thinking over what she expected from it.  She had decided to shower and change when she got to the hotel, and so she went back to her apartment to pick up the few things she was taking with her.  Ruby had promised to share a cab to the hotel with her, and then go off to meet Dorothy for drinks, and she was pacing the room anxiously in a red dress and high heels as Lacey dropped her make-up bag into the small overnight case she was taking.

“All this just to bang a Rush doppelganger?” she asked.  “I thought you hated that guy, anyway.”

“‘Hate’ is a little extreme,” said Lacey.  “He irritates the crap out of me, but I wouldn’t say I hate him.  Okay, _occasionally_ I might want to smack him in his smug, scruff-covered face, but that’s not the same thing.”

“But you’re actually paying to have sex with a guy that looks like him,” said Ruby.  “Little weird, Lace, gotta say.”

“Hey, I don’t criticise your life choices,” said Lacey, shrugging.

“Well, aren’t you worried that they’re actually related and you might meet the guy at some university function one day?” asked Ruby, and Lacey giggled.

“And hopefully I’ll be able to thank him again for the multiple orgasms,” she said.  “Come on Rubes, don’t freak out on me!”

“I’m not.”  Ruby shot her a look.  “I just worry, that’s all.”

“No need, I’m a big girl.”  Lacey dropped some underwear into the case, and Ruby sighed.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” she asked worriedly, and Lacey rolled her eyes.

“Look, this agency is high class,” she reasoned.  “If their clients were ever in danger they’d be out of business quicker than you can say punitive damages.  I’m way safer with this guy than some sleaze in a bar.”

“I guess…”  Ruby still looked concerned, and Lacey sighed, zipping up her case and setting it on the floor beside her.

“I’ll be _fine_ ,” she insisted.  “Now go and bang your new girlfriend, okay?  We can swap stories tomorrow.”

Grinning wickedly, Ruby picked up her coat.

 

00000

 

The night was cold, a few flakes of snow in the air, and the girls shivered as they hurried to the waiting cab. _The Agrabah_ was a plush hotel, and Lacey raised a few eyebrows when she stalked into the lobby in a short faux-fur coat and a skirt that barely covered her rear.  She didn’t much care; her money was as good as anyone’s, and the receptionist changed his sneering attitude as soon as he realised that she had booked and paid in advance for one of the suites.  She made her way up to the twenty-first floor, and let herself into suite number nine.  The room was warm and comfortable, with patterned silk carpets in red and gold, the colours picked out in the heavy curtains.  There was a dining table large enough for four, with ornate teak chairs pulled up to it, and a couch upholstered in soft brown leather.  A large flat screen TV was mounted on the wall, and a coffee table sat in front of the couch.  

Lacey shut the door behind her, pulling her case from the lounge into the bedroom and grinning at the vast bed draped with red and gold silk hangings and an embroidered red silk throw on top of crisp white sheets.  An ottoman sat at the end of the bed, and she set her case on it as she looked around the room.  A desk and chair was against the wall opposite the bed, and Lacey pursed her lips as she considered the scenario she had in mind.  There was a dresser on the wall to the right of the bed, and a small couch in the bay window that looked out over the street, its red silk cushions shot through with gold thread.  A vase sat to one side of the dresser, a bunch of fire-bright tiger lilies adding to the decadent setting.  Yes.  This would do very nicely.

 

00000

 

Gold entered the lobby of _The Agrabah_ at ten minutes to nine, carrying his black leather bag of toys and accessories in one hand, and a canvas suit bag in the other.  He was wearing his usual attire for such occasions: a three-piece suit, black silk shirt and tie, his black wool overcoat over the top to keep out the winter cold.  The outfit for his client’s chosen fantasy was in the suit bag; he had wanted to buy something new for this, rather than use his own clothes, but with teaching and a late night earlier that week, he hadn’t had the time.  He supposed he could always burn the things when he got home, or keep them in a box in the bottom of the closet, in case another client expressed similar desires.

“Good evening, sir.”  

One of the liveried bellboys greeted him, with a deferential bow of the head, and Gold nodded to him.  He was used to being mistaken for a guest.  He cast his eyes around the hotel lobby before heading for the elevators, his gaze sliding over polished wood and gilded inlay.  He was no stranger to this kind of opulence, and was no longer impressed by it; if anything it had ceased to have any effect on him years ago.  Although he dressed like he belonged here, he was as much a servant for the guests that hired him as that bellboy, and probably with far less self-respect.  Heaving a sigh, he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor.  Blue had said that Miss French was in room nine.  She would be waiting for him.  Four hours.  Four hours of whatever it was she wanted him to do to her, and he could drive home and try to get some sleep.  Assuming she didn’t request an extension, of course.  That certainly wasn’t unheard of, and although he welcomed the extra money, he was already tired.

When he had first started this other life of his, he had been curious about his clients.  He had tried to picture them in his mind before each meeting, getting it wrong almost every time.  He had wondered why they hired him, what was missing in their own lives that they would feel the need to come to him.  Sometimes they would tell him.  Sometimes they were simply too busy or were disinclined to seek out a relationship.  Sometimes they would divulge terrible secrets, and he would hold them while they cried.  Sometimes they were simply as lost and lonely as he was.  He couldn’t remember when his curiosity with their lives had waned, but it had to have been a few years ago now.  He had no interest in Miss French’s age, background or motivation.  Only in the large amount of money she was paying for his services, money that would help to pay Neal’s tuition fees for that semester.

The elevator bell pinged softly as it drew to a gentle stop, and the doors opened onto a corridor carpeted in red and gold, the walls patterned in cream paper with a lustrous sheen.  Room nine was off to the left, and he took a moment to put down the bag and straighten his tie before knocking on the door.  There was a scuffling noise from inside the room, and a clicking as the door was unlocked, and then it opened, a young woman appearing in the doorway.  She was short and very young, barely more than a girl, really, and for a moment he thought he might have the wrong room.  Her hair was chestnut brown, swept up on her head in a messy bun, and she was dressed in a short pleated skirt and tight white shirt, with long pale legs clad in white lace hold-up stockings above patent leather Mary Janes.   _Of course.  The whole student/professor thing.  Wonderful._

“Whoa!” she said, looking him up and down, and he managed not to roll his eyes.

“Miss French, I presume,” he said calmly, and her eyes widened.

“Fuck me, you’re even _Scottish_!” she blurted.  He blinked.

“Is that a problem?”

She was staring at him, and started as he spoke.

“Oh!  No, it’s just - never mind,” she said hastily.  “Come on in.”

She stood to the side, and he picked up the bag and walked into the suite, eyes flicking around while he checked the layout, the furniture, the position of mirrors.  Miss French closed and locked the door before turning to watch him with large, clear blue eyes, the lashes thick with mascara.  She looked even younger in this light, her pale cheeks smooth, her lips a deep red.  He presumed she was over eighteen, though.  Blue would have checked.  She was Australian, by her accent, and he wondered whether she was in the country long-term.  A college student, perhaps, but one with easy access to more money than he and Neal would ever see, most likely.  Some trust fund kid with rich parents, wanting something a little naughty to giggle and whisper about with her sorority friends.  Wanting a little dark ecstasy to liven up the dull, predictable route her life would take.  He blinked, and reminded himself that he didn’t care.

“Make yourself at home,” she said, gesturing to the room with outstretched arms as she walked past him.  “You want a drink?  There’s a pretty well-stocked mini bar, so help yourself.  I already had a rum and Coke.”

“No, thank you.”  He flashed her a brief smile.  “I brought some champagne, if you’d care for a glass.”

“I would.”  She bounced on her toes, her eyes gleaming.  “Not usually my thing, but I’ll drink pretty much anything.  As my college attendance record knows to its cost, y’know what I’m saying?”

He elected to ignore that, fairly certain that she was nervous and trying to cover it up with bluster.

“This is an excellent hotel,” he said, looking around.  “I’m sure your stay will be very comfortable.”

“Oh, it’s only for tonight, “ she assured him.  “I have my own apartment, but I thought it’d be best if we were on, like, neutral ground, or whatever.”

“Very wise.”

He put the bag down on the dining table, opening it up to remove the bottle of champagne he always carried on assignments.  Her eyes widened, a smile curling her lips as he set it down and shrugged off his overcoat.  He could feel her eyes on him as he draped it over the back of a chair.

“The champagne is still cold,” he assured her, and she started as though she had just remembered something.

“Oh.  I’ve actually got an ice bucket.  Hang on.”  

She trotted off, through the door to his right, which he presumed was the bedroom, and came back with a bucket of ice in her hands.  Several cans of soda were pushed in amongst the cubes, and she took them out and put them on the table, water pooling on the polished wood.  Gold removed the wire cage from around the cork and flourished his silk handkerchief, wrapping it around and twisting until the cork slipped out with a tiny hiss.  Miss French had trotted off, and was digging around in the mahogany cupboard to the left of the TV, where he presumed the mini bar and glasses were kept.  She straightened up with two champagne flutes in hand, walking over to him with a sway in her hips.

“Thank you.”  

He poured carefully, the champagne trickling into the glasses in a long, foaming stream, and handed the first to her before stuffing the bottle in amongst the cubes of ice and picking up his own.  They clinked glasses, and she took a sip, watching him.

“What do I call you?” she asked, and he shrugged.

“Whatever you like.  May I call you Lacey?”

“God, please do!”  She began pacing back and forth, an air of nervousness about her, and glanced at him somewhat uncertainly.  “Unless - well, you know what I asked for, right?  The - um - extras?”

“I do.”  He took a sip of his champagne.  “I’ll be calling you Miss French throughout the scenario, if that’s your preference.”

“I think so, yeah.”  

She was chewing at her lower lip, as though she was out of her depth, and he felt a sudden, unexpected urge to protect her.  It had been a while since he had been hired by someone so inexperienced.  A young woman of her age would most likely have had to endure the rough groping of immature idiots more concerned with getting in her pants than with what to do to give her pleasure.  She probably had little knowledge of how the act itself could be for her, but he was there to show her, if she let him.  He remained silent, letting her take control of the situation however she felt most comfortable, and after a moment she seemed to shake herself, turning to face him.

“So,” she said.  “How do you want to play this?  No offence, but you don’t exactly dress like any college professor I’ve ever seen.  What’s in the suit bag?”

Gold took a drink of his champagne, running the tip of his tongue across his lips.  Her eyes followed its path.

“I have a different outfit, for the character you’ve chosen,” he said.  “I was planning on changing.”

“Okay.”  She looked him up and down.  “So - why don’t you?  I mean, not that I’m complaining, or anything.  Guy in a sweet suit…”  She sucked air in through her teeth as she looked him and down.  “Pretty good, you know?  Easy on the eye.”

He watched her, his expression flat, and she lost her grin, becoming awkward again.

“I - I just meant…” she muttered.

“First, we need to discuss terms,” he interrupted, and she blinked.

“Terms,” she echoed.  “Did I hire a lawyer when I wasn’t looking?”

Gold put down his glass, flicking a speck of dust from the sleeve of his suit.

“I need to know what it is that you want,” he explained calmly.  “How far to go.  Whether you want me to take control, or whether there are specific things that you want me to do to you.  What’s off limits, whether you want to use a safe word, whether…”

“Alright, alright!”  He was surprised to see her blushing a little.  “I guess - I guess I haven’t thought this through.”

“No matter.”  He picked up the glass again.  “First time?”

“Yes - I mean, no.”  She waved an impatient hand.  “I mean, not my first _time_ , just my first time - this way.  Usually things involve more alcohol, and - less conversation.”

“I can shut up if you like,” he said, with a brief grin, and she shook her head.

“My usual way tends to be _really_ unsatisfying,” she said.  “Hence the reason _you’re_ here.”

“Understood.”  He sipped his wine.  “Would you like me to take the lead?”

“I - okay.”  She lifted her chin a little, as if to prove her boldness, but there was a spark of anxiety behind her eyes, too.  He sent her a brief smile, wanting to reassure her.

“If you want me to stop, at any time, just tell me,” he said gently.  “If there’s something I do that you don’t like, say so.  If there’s a safe word you want to use, please tell me what it is.  Otherwise if you say ‘stop’, I will.”

She licked her lips, a flick of her pink tongue, and he thought how lost she looked.

“I - I hadn’t thought of a word,” she admitted.  “But I don’t - I don’t want anything too extreme, anyway.”

“Of course,” he said.  “No code, then.  Just be explicit.  I can’t read your mind, and I have no desire to hurt you.”

“Okay.”

“When I think it’s appropriate, I shall say ‘enough?’ to you,” he added.  “And if you’re ready to stop the roleplay and move on to something else, you just need to repeat that word.  Do you understand?”

“Okay.  I - um - okay.”

She swallowed hard, and he could see her steel herself, as though this was some kind of test.  He wanted to have a very serious conversation with whomever had told her that she needed to do this.  Some sort of dare, perhaps?  She raised her chin, her expression resolute, and he took a deep breath, letting it out in what was almost a despondent sigh.

“Perhaps we could take it slow,” he suggested, and she sagged a little.  With relief, he thought.

“Okay,” she said again, and he nodded, taking a mouthful of champagne and feeling it foam in his mouth, burning his throat as he swallowed.

“So tell me more about the scenario you chose,” he said.  “What is it you want?”

She took a drink of champagne, grinning a little self-consciously, her blue eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Okay, so I want you to be my college professor, and I didn’t do the piece of work you set, so you decide to punish me,” she said in a rush, and shrugged a little self-consciously.  “Clichéd, I know.”

“There’s a reason it’s a classic,” he said dryly, and she giggled.  He put his head to the side.

“And the class I teach is..?”   _Not English.  Please, God, not English._

“Physics,” she said decidedly.  “Astrophysics, if you want to be precise.”

He chuckled.  “I trust you don’t expect me to have any knowledge in that area.”

“Oh, you can limit your impression of my professor to being really, really mad at me,” she assured him, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Very well.  And the - chastisement?  What method would you prefer?”

She blushed a little.

“I think - I think maybe a hand to start with,” she said, and grinned at him.  “What else do you have?”

Lacey watched as he set down his glass and opened up the bag, taking out various items and laying them out on the table.  A crop.  A selection of paddles.  A hairbrush.  A cane.  She looked them over, finally choosing the crop and handing it to him.

“This can sting, and will leave a mark for a while,” he warned, and she shrugged, a delicious thrill running through her at the thought of him spanking her.

“Don’t do it too hard, then, I guess,” she said, and he nodded, putting the other things back and draining his glass.

“And the rest?” he asked, setting it down and turning to her with a flick of his hair.  “What about the sex?  Is there anything you definitely don’t want?”

“Wow, you really believe in getting it all out there, don’t you?” she remarked.

“It’s either that, or I have to break character halfway through,” he explained.  “I’d rather know upfront, that way it’s a better experience for you.”

“Oh.”  She flushed a little, nodding.  “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.  Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” he said easily.  “I’m here to make this evening the best that I can for you.  So, to my question.  Anything you don’t want?”

Lacey thought for a moment.  She was by no means inexperienced, but there was so much she hadn’t tried.  Still, she supposed there was always a first time.

“Nothing I can think of,” she said, and he nodded.

“Again, I want to stress that if you want me to stop, or you don’t like what I do, tell me,” he said, and she snickered.  He put his head to the side.  “Did I say something amusing?”

Lacey shook her head, the faint and totally unexpected blush that was in her cheeks darkening.

“No, it’s just - a guy asking me what I like and taking steps to make sure I enjoy myself?” she said.  “New experience, gotta be honest.  I guess you get what you pay for, huh?”

His face was suddenly expressionless, and she wished she could take it back.

“I didn’t mean - that was insensitive,” she muttered, uncomfortable.

“It’s quite alright,” he said calmly.  “You are correct, after all.  At its heart, this is a business transaction, and you quite rightly want your money’s worth.  Shall we begin?”

“Um - okay.”  She shifted from foot to foot, feeling awkward, and he nodded, picking up the leather bag and his suit bag.

“Would you bring the ice bucket and glasses, please?” he asked, and she nodded, returning his smile as he headed for the bedroom.

She watched him drop the suit bag on the bed and scan the room as he entered, and imagined that he was planning what to do with what the room and its furniture offered.  The thought was exciting.  He placed the leather bag on the ottoman at the end of the bed, pulling out some condoms and throwing some onto the desk and some onto the bed itself.  Finally, he took the crop and laid it carefully on the desk.  She licked her lips as he turned to face her, the darkness in his eyes making her catch her breath.

“Would you like me to kiss you?” he asked.  His voice was low, almost a growl, and she swallowed.

“Okay.”

He took a step closer, and reached up, his finger gently stroking over her cheek.  His touch sent shivers through her, and she licked her lips again, noticing his eyes follow the path of her tongue.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, and cupped her face with his hands.  

His palms were smooth and warm, and she could smell the heady, musky scent of cologne on his fingers.  Her heart thumped in her chest, and she tilted her chin up a little as he lowered his mouth to hers.  His lips were soft, and she moaned into his mouth as he parted her lips with his tongue, his fingers sliding into her hair.  She shuddered with pleasure, his touch raising goosebumps, letting her hands rest on his waist, the fine wool of his suit smooth to the touch.  He deepened the kiss, his tongue stroking against hers, and she let her body relax into him, pressing against his chest as she tasted him.  Eventually he drew back, breaking the kiss, his lips pulling at hers as they parted.  Lacey tried to catch her breath, her chest heaving, and on flicking her eyes up to meet his, she saw that his pupils had widened, his breathing a little harder.

“Whoa,” she said softly, and one corner of his mouth pulled upwards in a sly smile.

“Are you ready?” he asked quietly, and her breath hitched in her chest.

“I - guess so.  Yes.”  

Her voice was firmer at the end, and she squared her jaw a little.

“Very well.”  He stepped back from her and picked up his suit bag.  “Excuse me for a moment.”

She watched him head for the bathroom, her heart thumping high in her chest.  God, the man knew how to kiss!  She recalled her brief liaisons with other guys, the ones that had slobbered on her, the ones that had sucked on her mouth like a fucking sink plunger.  The ones that had thrust their tongues in and out like it was just an extension of their dicks.  She liked to kiss, but so often it felt like going through the motions, the guy putting up with the intimacy so that they could get what they wanted from her.  So often it left her feeling used and hollow.   _His_ kiss, though.  His kiss had kindled a spark inside her, burning bright, fuelled by rising lust.  She paced back and forth, waiting for him to emerge.  Wondering how she would react to him.  Perhaps he would look nothing like Rush.  She could handle that.  He was hot as fuck on his own.

Nerves were crawling in her belly, along with the tingle of anticipation, and she threw back the rest of her drink, stomping over to pour herself another glass.  She was already a little lightheaded from the rum and coke she had drunk before his arrival, and she didn’t want to be drunk for the experience, but there was a certain pleasure in feeling her body relax and what inhibitions she had fall away.  She had not expected to feel so nervous; it was not as though she was an innocent.  Perhaps it was that he spoke to her as an equal, as someone in charge of her own experience.  Perhaps it was that he was giving her control, when she really had no idea what she was doing.  She trusted him, though.  She was certain he wouldn’t hurt her.

The bathroom door opened, and she whirled on her toes, her mouth falling open as he walked through.  He was wearing dark jeans belted at the waist, a thick silver buckle gleaming in the light.  His shirt was white, open at the neck and displaying an intriguing triangle of smooth, lightly-tanned chest.  A dark grey waistcoat was over the top of the shirt, and his hair was a little messier, his new growth of stubble glinting gold and silver.  Warm brown eyes were framed by a pair of silver-rimmed glasses, and his resemblance to Rush was - well, it was just _uncanny._  She licked her lips, and he straightened the cuffs of his shirt, lifting his chin.

“Miss French,” he said coldly.  “I’ll see you in my office.  Now.”

Lacey felt her mouth fall open, and he strode past her, making for the desk and chair.  He pulled out the chair, seating himself at the desk, and pulled the pad of paper that was printed with the hotel’s name towards himself, long fingers reaching for the black and gold pen beside it.  Lacey bounced on her toes for a moment, unsure of herself, then set her glass down on the dresser, smoothing her skirt and striding up to the desk.   _Showtime._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time, Lacey had hired Gold for sexy times, and got him to dress as a college professor. Many of you were upset with where I ended the chapter :D
> 
> Here's what happened next.

“You wanted to see me - sir,” she said, and a delicious thrill ran through her, making her shiver.  He looked up, regarding her over the top of his glasses.

“You failed to complete the piece of work I set,” he said, and she noticed that his accent was a little thicker, more like Rush’s own.   _Holy_ crap _that’s hot!_

“Yeah,” she said, as carelessly as though it were a few days ago, in her astrophysics class.  “Well, I didn’t do it.  Sue me.”

“Oh, I think not,” he said quietly, his eyes gleaming.  “What I want from you, Miss French, is an explanation.”

She swallowed hard, and her belly crawled with want, her lower abdomen tightening, but she raised her chin, playing along.  

“I was kind of distracted,” she said, with an offhand shrug.

He tapped his pen on the desk, raising an eyebrow.  “Oh, really?”

“Yeah.”  She took a step closer.  “Yeah, I - I tried to do the work, sir, honestly, but I was thinking about how I like to watch you when you teach, and about how _mad_ you’d be when you found I didn’t do the paper, and I - I kind of wanted to see how that would go.”

She leaned on the desk, a repeat of the very pose that had seemed to leave Rush cold earlier that week.  She could feel her breath coming hard in her chest, and she met his eyes, noticing that his pupils had grown wide and dark.  Hmm.  There was a reaction _there_ , at least.

“So,” he whispered, holding her gaze.  “You were being deliberately - wilful.”

Her breath caught in her throat.  Fuck, the guy could probably make her come just by _talking_ to her.

“Yeah,” she breathed, raising an insolent eyebrow, and he nodded.

“In that case, I believe some discipline is required,” he said, and sat back, beckoning to her with a crooked finger.  “Come here, Miss French.”

She pushed back from the desk, her heart thumping with a mix of excitement and trepidation.

“Why?” she asked breathlessly, and he pushed his chair back a little.

“Come _here_ , Miss French,” he said, more menacingly.  “Take your punishment, like a good girl.  You know you deserve it.”

Squeezing her thighs together, Lacey licked her lips again, knowing she was already wet.  She took slow steps towards him on legs that shook a little, her breath coming hard in her chest.  He had opened his legs, the bulge of his crotch drawing her eyes beneath the thick silver belt buckle, and he patted his thigh with a hand, lifting his chin.

“Over my knee,” he said coldly, and she sucked in a breath.

“Wh-what?”

“My knee, Miss French,” he said impatiently.  “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Heart pounding, her mouth dry, she took the final step, and squeaked as he put his hand on her rear and pulled her towards him, his leg making her stumble and bend forwards over his lap.  She braced herself on the legs of the chair with her hands, panting a little, and felt his warm hand on her left thigh.  It stroked slowly upwards over the lace stocking tops to touch bare skin, lifting her short pleated skirt and exposing her rear.

“Well, well,” he rumbled, his voice vibrating through her as one finger trailed a line up over the curve of her buttock.  “What have we here?”

Lacey held her breath, her senses heightened by her arousal, her skin tingling at his touch.

“Red panties,” he said, his voice a little hoarse, and she felt his finger slip beneath the narrow waistband of her lace thong and pull it up before letting it snap back against her skin with a sharp sting.  “Intriguing.  And here I thought you were a good girl.  A little rebellious, of course, but simply in need of - guidance.  A firm hand.”

“Never!” she said, with a snort of derision.

“Such a pity.”  His fingers trailed over her soft skin, tracing the edge of lace at the top of her stockings and sending shivers through her.

“What…”  She cut off, swallowing in an attempt to wet her dry throat.  “What are you going to do to me?”

“Did you think I could let this latest insubordination slide?”  

He had bent his head a little, his mouth near her ear.  His voice rolled over her, that familiar burr, that roll of the r’s.  Dammit, she could just _imagine_ Rush saying that!  Probably with some cursing thrown in.

“You have taken every opportunity to display your utter lack of respect,” he went on, and she shivered at the growl of his voice, the feel of his breath on her ear.  “Your disdain for my authority is outweighed only by your flagrant contravention of the dress code in my class.  Red lace thongs -” he let the elasticated waistband snap back against her skin again “- are completely inappropriate.”

Lacey caught her lip between her teeth, her eyes closed, her abdomen tight with arousal.  She could feel the heat of his skin through his jeans, through the cotton shirt he wore, and she thought of getting him naked, of having him fuck her over the desk, of pushing him down on the bed and riding him hard.  She wanted to ask him to touch her, to reach between her legs and slip his fingers inside her panties and rub her until she screamed, but she swallowed the words, not wanting to break character.  The tension of waiting, of wondering what he would do, was almost unbearable.

“Your - insolence - has gone on long enough,” he breathed.  “You must be punished.”

She bit back a moan, her pulse throbbing in her temples, hot and heavy, and the warm palm of his hand rubbed over her buttocks.

“I think,” he whispered.  “I think you need to be spanked.  What do you say, Miss French?”

She couldn’t speak, her mouth open, her breath coming in pants, and he brought the flat of his hand down on her rear with a sharp smack, making her let out a cry of surprise.  The blow stung, and she jerked in his grip, but then he spanked her again, and she squeaked, trying not to giggle.

“You think this is funny?”  His voice was grim, and it sent another flutter of arousal through her.  She cried out at the next stinging blow, and the next, perspiration starting to bead on her upper lip, the thrill of it making her entire body tingle.  His palm rubbed over her buttocks, soothing the smarting pain.

“Is that enough?” he growled, his breath warm on her ear, sending shivers through her.  “Will you stop being so _wilful_ , Miss French?  Will you obey my instructions?”

“Not bloody likely!” she panted.

He jerked upright at her words, as though she had spat in his face.  She could feel her excitement rising up and threatening to boil over, her breath coming hard in her chest.  There was a terrible, ominous silence, and it was almost too much to bear, the only sound in her ears the heavy thump of her pulse, and she was tempted to speak, to release the tension.  One fingertip ran slowly over her skin in a curving line, tracing the shape of her rear, and she pressed her lips together to keep in a moan of anticipation, a heavy throb between her legs where she wanted him to touch her.

“I see,” he said his voice barely more than a whisper.  “Your insubordination runs deeper than I thought.  It appears that a more - severe - form of discipline is in order.”

Lacey tugged at her lip with her teeth, flushing with excitement, and he grasped her shoulder and pushed her upright.  She stumbled a little as she found her feet, and he stood up, seeming to loom over her despite his short stature.  One hand folded around her hip as he leaned in close, his hair brushing against her cheek as he put his mouth to her ear.

“Bend over,” he said roughly.  “Hands on the desk.”

She let herself fall forwards, air whooshing from her lungs, and braced herself on the desk with her elbows.  She could see the long, leather-bound length of the crop and the tiny plastic packets of condoms off to the side, and she licked her lips, suddenly aware that she would be having sex with this man very soon.  The thought was highly arousing.  The desk smelt of beeswax and the dry, musty scent of old pages, and for a moment she could pretend that she was an adventurer in some sort of forgotten library, attempting to subdue an ancient evil, her legs spread as she bent over old manuscripts and waited for the beast to approach.

She felt his hands then, the tips of his fingers gently pressing against her hips.  He was standing directly behind her, and she swallowed hard, trying to slow her heart rate.  His hands stroked downwards, sliding beneath her skirt and pushing it up around her waist, so that her rear was exposed to him once more.

“Hand me the crop,” he said pleasantly, and she shook her head, unable to speak.  She squeaked in surprise as he slapped her on the right cheek, making her skin smart.

“The crop,” he repeated.  “If you make me ask again, you get another stroke.”

“Fuckhead!” she muttered under her breath.

“ _Two_ more strokes.  And perhaps we’ll wash that filthy mouth out with something, hmm?”

His voice had grown smooth and soft, disguising his darkness, a silken handkerchief wrapped around a murder weapon, and she shuddered in pleasure.  Hesitantly, she reached out with trembling fingers, grasping the firm length of the crop and flicking it up over her shoulder so that he could take it.

“Why, thank you.”  He sounded almost smug, the bastard.  “See, you can be obedient when you choose to.”

“Just get it over with!” she hissed, and he let out a soft chuckle.

“Clearly patience is another virtue we need to teach you.”

Lacey growled under her breath, but she could tell he was waiting.  She could hear a rhythmic tapping, a slap of leather against skin, and realised that it was the sound of the crop against his palm.  She felt that tug in her belly again, the pull of desire.

“How many?” he asked, and she stilled.

“How - how many what?”

She jerked as she felt the press of cold leather on her inner thigh.  The crop slid up between her legs, pushing against her core, and she moaned.

“Strokes,” he whispered, pulling the crop back and forth between her legs.  “How many strokes from the crop, Miss French?  Oh, and rest assured that if I think you’re too lenient with the number, I’ll double it.”

“Shit!” she swore.

“One extra.”

“What the _fuck_ , man?” she objected, turning her head.

“Two extra.  My, my, these _are_ adding up, aren’t they?”

“Dammit!  Okay, okay!”  She held up her hands as much as she could from her position, bending her wrists back to raise her fingers.  “Um - well, I guess - six is traditional, right?”

The crop slipped out from between her legs, and she missed its friction, her muscles clenching in arousal.

“Six of the best,” he almost purred.  “Very well.  Are you ready?”

She was shaking a little, nerves warring with excitement, and she licked her lips again before nodding.  She flinched as she felt the cool kiss of leather against her skin, the length of the crop rubbing over her naked rear.  It left her skin, the ghost of its touch lingering, and she tensed, waiting for the blow to fall.

“Count for me,” he whispered.

Her lips parted, the sweep of her tongue leaving them wet, her breath gusting heat against them.  Her senses were heightened, and with them her awareness of him, of his position behind her.  For the space of a moment she listened to the thump of her heart, her rapid, panting breath, and the squeak of his leather shoes on the carpet as he moved off to the side.  The whistle of the crop as it fell.

She braced for the impact, but felt only a rush of air against her skin as the crop swished past her.   _That bastard!_  Biting back a moan of anticipation, she felt her heart thud faster.  She could feel that she was wet, and she badly wanted him to touch her.  She heard the swish of the crop again, and heard the _crack_ as it struck her.  Crying out, she jerked forwards, a stripe of fire across her buttocks.

“Count for me, Miss French,” he breathed, and she panted, trying to calm herself.

“One!” she gasped.

“Good girl.”  

The flat of his hand stroked over her smarting skin, soothing her, and she felt his finger slip beneath the waistband of her panties, tugging them up between her legs a little and making them rub against her clit.  She made a low noise of pleasure, and her moan became a squeak of pain as another stroke fell.

_“Fuck!”_

“What did I tell you about swearing?” he asked.  “How many was that?”

“T-two!” she stammered.

“ _Very_ good girl,” he purred, tugging at her underwear again and causing delicious friction.  God, she wanted him to touch her!  The need for him was agony.  He pulled slowly at the thong, letting the lace rub against her, and she moaned again.

“Is there something you wanted?” he asked, his voice taking on a silky tone, and she squared her jaw, stubbornly shaking her head.  Her eyes widened in shock as the crop traced another line of fire across her rear.

“Three!” she gasped.

“ _Such_ an obedient thing,” he drawled.  “Isn’t this much better, Miss French?  Doing as you’re told?”

“No!” she growled, and let out a cry as another stroke fell.

“Talking back will only lead to more of these, you know,” he said, in an offhand tone.  “You’re not counting.  How many is that?”

“F-four!”

He slipped the the crop between her legs again, and she moaned as it slid against her, the cool, firm length of it rubbing over the triangle of red lace that barely covered her mound.  She moved her hips in time with it, wanting to increase the pressure against her.

“Are you _sure_ there’s nothing else you want from me, Miss French?” he inquired.  “You seem to be enjoying this a little too much…”

“No!” she gasped.  “Just - just get it over with!”   _And then fuck me until I forget my own name._

“Very well.”  

The crop disappeared again, and she waited, her heart hammering in her chest, the blood singing in her ears.  She tensed at the sound of another swishing blow, and a rush of air huffed over her again as he deliberately missed.

“You fucking bastard!” she whispered, and let out a cry as another blow landed across her rear with a loud _crack_.

“Language, Miss French,” he said lazily.  “And I don’t hear you counting.  Do I have to start again?”

 _“Five!  It’s fucking five, you fucking pervert fuckhead!”_ she stormed, and all at once he stilled.

There was another tense, awful silence, and Lacey listened to the sound of her rapid, panting breath, running her tongue over dry lips.  Out of the corner of her eye she could see the crop being placed very deliberately on the table, and she swallowed hard, wondering what he was about to do.  She flinched instinctively as he touched her, but his hand merely stroked over her buttocks, soothing the smarting pain, caressing her skin with a tenderness that surprised her.

“Perhaps I’m using the wrong sort of discipline,” he murmured.  “Perhaps there’s something else you need.”

_Oh yes yes yes, please, fuck, yes!_

His hands slid up over her hips, thumbs stroking along the waistband of her thong.  She could feel him pressed up against her, the slight roughness of his denim jeans and the cold metal of his belt buckle, and she sucked in a breath as his grip tightened.

“Are you wet, Miss French?” he whispered.  “Maybe I should check.”

One hand slid across her belly, down between her legs, his fingers pushing beneath the red lace, and Lacey moaned as he touched her.

“Oh, you’re _soaking_!” he breathed, and one finger slipped between her folds, grazing her clit.

 _“Fuck!”_ she swore, and he stroked her again, his other hand sliding up to grip her hip and pull her back against his groin.

“It seems as though you _do_ need a firm hand,” he said quietly.  “What say you, Miss French?”

Her arousal had rendered her speechless, and Lacey could do nothing more than moan and push herself against his hand.  He withdrew wet fingers from beneath her underwear, making her whine at the loss of his touch, and gently pulled the thong over her hips and down her legs.  She kicked it off at her feet, and felt his warm hands on her rear.

“Spread your legs,” he whispered.  “Wider.”

She obeyed, her heart thumping, and watched as his long fingers curled around the crop, a slim metal tube encasing the stiff leather to form the handle.  He turned it around, spinning it slowly in a wide circle on the desk, so that the metal-tipped end was pointing away from her, and picked it up.  The crop moved out of sight, and Lacey waited, her belly clenching with excitement.  She let out a squeak of surprise as the cold metal slipped along the folds of wet flesh between her legs, and moaned a little as it gently rubbed over her clit.

“I want you to hold this,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear, making her shudder with pleasure.  “If you drop it, I shall be extremely displeased, do you understand?”

She nodded, unable to speak, and her mouth opened in a gasp as the end of the crop pushed against her, gently sliding up inside her.  He let it sit there, four inches or so by her estimate, and her muscles clamped around it instinctively.

“Hold it tight,” he breathed, and began stroking her, his fingers sliding and rubbing against her clit, making her skin tingle and her cheeks flush.  Lacey moaned loudly, a sheen of perspiration on her lip, on her forehead.  The sensation of having something inside her while he stroked her, the sensation of being penetrated, even by something as slender as the crop, added to the thrill of his touch, and she began to move her hips, increasing the pressure, wanting more of him.  She imagined how it would feel to have him inside her, to feel his thick cock sink into her hot flesh, to feel every inch of him pushing into her, and she could sense that she was close.  His fingers danced over her, stroking and rubbing and sliding through her fluids, and she could feel her muscles tensing and her skin flushing and the blood pounding in her head.

“Come for me, Miss French,” he growled, nipping at her ear with his teeth, and she broke with a wail, lights bursting behind her eyes.  Her hips jerked, pushing against his hand, the crop still gripped by her inner walls, and he slowed his movements as she let out cries of pleasure, her skin almost too sensitive to the touch.  

Eventually she stilled, her chest heaving as she gulped air, and she felt him grip the crop, gently drawing it out of her.  He held it up before her, so that she could see the shining white globules of her cum on the end.  She turned her head to the side, trying to wet her dry lips with her tongue, and watched as he slid the end of the crop into his mouth, sucking off the taste of her pleasure with narrowed eyes and a low noise of enjoyment that made her abdomen clench all over again.  The crop was laid on the desk once more, and he brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers as he bent his head to whisper in her ear.

“You taste delicious,” he breathed.  “Enough?”

Lacey stared at him for a moment, before remembering what he had said to her earlier about ending the roleplay.  Her entire body was humming, her muscles warm and loose, and she nodded.

“Enough,” she said.

He smiled then, and took her shoulders, easing her upright.  She fell against his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her.  It was surprisingly comforting; she had never really been a hugger when it came to guys, but he smelt good and it felt right and she seemed to fit perfectly against him.  She let out a shuddering breath, and he stroked her hair soothingly.

“Are you sore?” he asked.  “I have some lotion.”

“I’m okay.”  She pulled out of his arms and turned away, lifting her skirt.  “How does my arse look?”

“A little pink,” he admitted.  “You have some stripes there.  I suspect the marks will be gone by tomorrow, though.  Are you sure about the lotion?”

Lacey reached for her half-empty champagne glass, taking a drink to wet her throat.

“I’ll pass,” she said.  “That was awesome, thank you.”

“My pleasure.”  He reached for his own glass, and regarded her over the top of it as he swallowed.  “What would you like me to do to you?”

She licked her lips, looking him over as he took off his glasses and placed them on the desk.

“Could - could you undress me?” she asked.  “And then maybe we take it to the bed?”

He smiled.  “Of course.”

He drained his glass and set it on the desk, and then strode away from her, turning on the lamps at the side of the bed and flicking off the overhead light, bathing the room in a warmer, more muted glow.  She swallowed the last of the champagne in her glass, wandering over to the dresser to set it down, and she felt her heart thump as he moved up behind her, his hands on her waist.  She gazed at their reflection in the mirror, his eyes dark and deep, his lips next to her ear, and arousal surged in her again as his hands slid up her body to brush over her hair.  He reached for the pins that held it up, pulling them out and using his fingers to separate the curling chestnut strands as they tumbled free, framing her face.

“Beautiful,” he whispered again, and she chewed her lip.  She didn’t _feel_ beautiful.  Oh, she knew she was hot, but that wasn’t the same thing.  She had a good body and she was fit, and she knew that guys liked to look at her, but true beauty was more than smooth-cheeked youth and a good pair of legs.  Her eyes flicked to the vase of tiger lilies, soft petals curling outwards to reveal deep orange centres.  They were the colour of flames, their beauty as fierce and bright as a burning match-head, and every bit as fleeting.

He swept her hair to the side then, bending to kiss her neck, and she moaned at the feel of it, his tongue flickering over her pulse.  Her legs trembled a little, but one arm was around her, holding her steady, and she allowed herself to sag against him a little as he bit down into her neck.  His mouth trailed higher, teeth nibbling at her nape and making her shudder with pleasure, and his arm gently loosened its grip, his hand moving around to the zipper of her skirt and pulling it down.  It fell to the floor at her feet, and she stood there in the tight white shirt she wore and the white lace-top stockings, the skin between her legs smooth and sleek and shining with her own juices.  He nuzzled her ear with his nose, fingers moving over her hips and around to the buttons of her shirt.  He worked his way up slowly, unfastening each button in turn, noting his progress over her shoulder in the mirror, and Lacey bit her lip as she watched him, the flat of his hand stroking across her belly, his tanned fingers dark against her own milky skin.  The hand pushed up beneath the white cotton, exposing her navel, and she watched the muscles of her abdomen jump as she sucked in a breath, as his palm moved over her skin, tugging her closer against him possessively.  His lips pulled at the skin of her neck, and he unhooked another button, then another, the last popping open to reveal the white lace bra that cupped her small breasts.  

His hands moved, stroking up over her shoulders, the fingers gently gripping the lapels of the shirt and slowly pulling it open, sliding it over her pale shoulders and down her arms.  Lacey felt her breath catch, watching their reflection with eyes grown wide and dark with lust, her lips parted.  She eased out of the shirt with a sigh, enjoying the stroke of his fingers against her bare skin, and he kissed along her shoulder, his hair tickling her.  The cotton shirt fluttered to the floor, and his hands slid up her waist to cup her breasts, thumbs stroking over the buds of her nipples.  She let out a tiny moan, pushing against him, and his kiss trailed up her neck to her ear.  His hands left her then, fingers splaying out over the mounds of her breasts and sliding around to her back to tug open her bra.  He pushed it from her, letting it fall at her feet, and cupped her breasts with his hands once more.

“Look how beautiful you are,” he murmured.

Lacey opened her eyes, meeting his gaze in the mirror.  His eyes were very dark, almost black in the light of the lamps, his hair hanging over his face a little.  She could see the light gleaming gold and silver in the strands, his skin warm next to her pale throat.  He caressed her with long, slender fingers, bushing the sensitive skin of her breasts, squeezing the nipples between thumb and forefinger and making her moan with desire.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, and slid one hand up her chest to stroke along her jaw, turning her head towards him so that he could stare into her eyes.  Lacey reached up to push her fingers through his hair, their noses touching, his lips almost brushing against hers, and he kissed her hungrily, his free hand squeezing, his arm tight around her, holding her close.  She made a low noise of pleasure as his tongue stroked hers, and he pulled back, their lips wet with saliva.

“Shall we get on the bed?” he asked, and she nodded, so he pulled away from her and took her hand, pulling her with him and leading her to the bed.  

Gold supported her with one hand as she climbed on, still clad in just her patent black shoes and white stockings.  Lacey had the taut, lithe figure of a dancer, all firm muscles softened by small, perfect curves, and he suspected that she kept herself fit.  She was a beautiful thing, almost ethereal in the warm light, her dark curls tumbling down over her shoulders, her lips full and deep pink.  She lay back against the pillows, watching him, and he unbuttoned the waistcoat he was wearing and draped it over the dresser chair, unfastening the cuffs of his shirt before bending to slip off his shoes and socks.  She could undress him further if she wished, but for now he wanted to concentrate on her.

He climbed onto the bed, kneeling at her feet, and watched her chest rise and fall more rapidly as he put his hands on her knees.  Her eyes were wide and bright, and she licked her lips almost nervously.  He reminded himself how young she was, how inexperienced, no matter her sexual history.  He gave her a brief smile.

“Lie back,” he said gently.  “Just relax and let go.”

She eyed him a moment longer, but then settled back in the pillows, her head falling to the side.  He slid his hands up her thighs, lowering his head to kiss her knees, and she murmured something inaudible as he gently pushed her legs apart.  He could smell her arousal, and the memory of how she tasted was making him harden, her pleasure still lingering on his tongue.  His lips trailed over her stockings, brushing against the lace tops to the soft flesh of her inner thigh, his tongue flickering out over her skin, and she gasped as he made his way up.  Tongue moving in circles, he neared the top of her leg, breathing in the scent of her, and he could hear her rapid breathing, her tiny, whispered moans as he pushed her thighs further apart.

He pressed his lips against her, feeling the heat from her core, and she let out a high-pitched moan as his tongue flickered out to taste her.  Her flavour exploded across his tongue, salty and sweet and delicious, and he groaned aloud, his cock throbbing in his jeans, wanting to get inside her.  Her scent was all sweet musk and the light, lingering perfume of whatever vanilla moisturiser she used on her skin, and he let his tongue sweep over her flesh, making her cry out and drop her hands to twist the fingers in his hair.  God, she was delicious!  He let his tongue move against her in circles, rubbing around her clit, dipping into her soft, tight entrance, and he thought about how it would feel to be inside her, to push his cock into her and fuck her hard.

He carried on licking her in a slow, steady rhythm, alert to the tiny changes in her body that signalled her nearing climax.  Her muscles stiffened, her breath whistling in her lungs, her back arching up a little, and he used the flat of his tongue against her, sweeping up and down over her clit as she began to whimper, to moan, to wail.  She came hard, jerking up off the bed before falling back and bouncing a little on the mattress, and he listened to her cries as warm liquid bathed his tongue, as he licked up every drop of her.

 _“Shit!”_ she gasped, still trying to catch her breath, and he smiled against her, pressing a final kiss to her folds before pushing himself up on his hands and sitting back on his heels.  

Lacey looked up at him sleepily, her body feeling heavy and lazy and tingling all over from her orgasm.

“I have _never_ had a guy do that!” she told him.  “I mean, they’ve tried on occasion, but to be honest it didn’t really get me off.  Most of them sucked, you know?  I don’t just mean they were shit, I mean they _actually_ sucked, they didn’t lick.  One guy even bit me.  Can you believe that?  I had to punch him in the head and run off, the creep.”

“Bad porn created for the male gaze has a lot to answer for,” he observed, and Lacey sniffed in agreement.

“I reckon that they think because _they_ like having their dicks sucked that it’s gotta be good for girls too, right?  That’s if they think about it at all.”

“Well, now you know what _you_ like,” he said, and she grinned widely.

“Yeah, but I’m not sure I’d ever get it again,” she said regretfully.  “Not like that, anyway.  That was _awesome_!”

“Just talk to your next partner about it,” he said, flicking his hair out of his eyes.  “If he cares about you, he’ll want to know how to please you.”

“Hmm.”  She pulled a face.  “I’m less a ‘relationship’ kinda girl and more of a ‘quick hook-up in an alleyway’ kinda girl.”

“Really?”  He met her eyes.  “I have to say that surprises me.  You seem to need some love in your life.”

She opened her mouth to ask why, and closed it again.  His gaze was steady, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he could see right through her, past all her bold statements and fake bravado to the person she really was.  The person only a couple of her best friends really knew.  It was somewhat disconcerting.

“Well, I guess it doesn’t even matter,” she muttered, dropping her eyes a little.  “Not like I needed a counselling session from the guy I paid for sex.  Can you fuck me from behind?”

His face got that flat, almost blank expression that she was starting to suspect he used whenever he was trying to close himself off.  She supposed she couldn’t blame him, and she wanted to take back the words she had thrown at him like darts, a distraction from her own pain, a barb to pierce his soul and keep him from getting too close.  He swallowed, raising his chin, and nodded.

“Get on your knees,” he said quietly, and she rolled onto her front, pushing up on her hands and knees.  Turning her back on him.

Lacey sucked in a breath as she heard the clink of his belt being undone.  There was the sound of clothing being removed, and a thud as something hit the floor.  Glancing to the side, she could see their reflections in the mirror, and she watched as he put his hands on her hips, still clad in the white shirt, his legs bare beneath it.

“Take off the shirt,” she said.  “I want to see you.”

His hands stilled on her for a moment, but then he began unbuttoning the shirt, slipping it from his shoulders.  His body was lean and firm, just a little softness at his waist, and she ran her eyes over his reflection, noting that he was already hard, his cock pointing towards her as though it was eager to be inside her.  The thought made her belly clench in anticipation, and she sucked her lower lip into her mouth and let it fall.

“Touch me,” she whispered, and he reached between her legs, his fingers stroking, searching, making her moan.  Her flesh was still tender from the attentions of his tongue, and she thought she would come quickly once he was inside her.  She was surprised by how much she _wanted_ him.

Gold let his fingers stroke over her, feeling the swollen nub of her clit before gently sliding a finger inside her.  She was hot and slippery-wet with her own pleasure, and he felt his cock twitch at the thought of being inside her.  He added another finger, and she groaned in response, moving her hips back and forth as he pushed them in and out, her fluids coating his hand.  Grabbing one of the condoms, he tore open the packet with his teeth and gently slid his fingers out of her so that he could put it on.  She was watching him in the mirror, her breath coming in pants, and he lined them up, raising an eyebrow at her as he pushed against her entrance.  She nodded fiercely, and he grasped her hips with his hands, sliding deep inside her with a groan of satisfaction.  She let out a moan, head rolling back, her flesh gripping him tight, and he began to move, one hand sliding between her legs to rub at her in gentle circles.

Lacey moaned again, tossing her hair back out of her eyes and turning her head to watch him in the mirror.  She could see his cock moving in and out of her, its thick length glistening with her juices, and she was almost ready to come just from the sight of him pushing into her.  His fingers were rubbing at her clit, making sparks dance over her skin.

 _“Fuck!”_ she gasped.  “Harder!  Fuck me harder!”

His mouth twisted in a slanting grin, and he quickened his pace, one hand gripping her hip as the other stroked her.  She began to let out tiny cries with every thrust, her climax building.  He was slamming into her, the depth of his thrusts almost painful, and her cries increased in pitch as she neared her peak.  One finger rubbed along her folds, grazing the side of her clit, and she came hard, screaming wordlessly.  Her hips bucked, pumping against him, and he held her steady as she rode it out, his hands gripping her hips as he continued to slide in and out, his groans of pleasure joining with her own.

Eventually she slowed, gasping for air, her skin tingling.  He was still moving, still thrusting, his cock hard and thick inside her, and she tried to catch her breath, her arms shaking.

“May I come, Lacey?” he growled, and her eyes snapped open in surprise.

She looked at his reflection in the mirror, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips, his muscles tight with strain.  His face was twisted, his expression almost one of pain, and she realised that he had been holding off his own orgasm for some time.

“May I come?” he asked desperately.

“Fuck, yeah!” she whispered, and he quickened his pace.  She watched him, licking her lips as he looked close to coming undone.

“Come inside me!” she breathed.

He let go with a groan, pushing deep inside her, his cock pulsing as he came.  The feel of it was incredible, turning her on all over again, and she decided there and then that she wanted him more than once that night.  He was pumping against her, his head thrown back, his hair swaying and shining in the light of the lamps, and she felt a slow, satisfied grin creep across her face as he slumped forwards a little.  She enjoyed watching men lose control, although usually it was the only pleasure she got from an encounter.  A bonus this time, then.  His head hung down, the ends of his hair brushing her back as he tried to steady his breathing.  For a moment there was silence, and then he straightened up, catching her eye in the mirror.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, and she nodded, shooting him a quick smile.

He grasped the condom at its base and slowly pulled out of her, letting out a contented sigh.

“Just let me dispose of this,” he said, moving backwards off the bed, and she nodded, rolling onto her back as he made his way to the bathroom.  She lay with one hand on her stomach, feeling the rise and fall of her breath, her skin still humming from his touch.  She could hear water running in the sink, which reminded her that she needed to pee.  Pushing herself up on her hands, she unbuckled her shoes and threw them across the room to land by the wardrobe, leaving the stockings on.  He was moving around in the bathroom; she heard a deep throat-clearing and a shuffling of feet, and after a moment he came out again.  She watched him approach, running her eyes over his body, and he ruffled his hair with his hand, sending her a brief smile.  

“Give me a minute,” she said, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and heading for the bathroom.

Lacey closed the bathroom door behind her, leaning against it with a sigh.   _Wow._   Her entire body was tingling, and she ran fingertips over her swollen lips, imagining that she could still feel his kiss.  Holy fucking _crap_ this was money well spent!  Pushing away from the door, she turned her back on the mirror, looking over her shoulder to inspect her rear.  He had spoken true: five pink stripes marred her skin, the flesh a little raised, but it didn’t look too bad.  She liked the idea that the evidence of their time together would stay with her for at least a little while.  Whether she could look at Dr Rush in the same way after acting out a sexual fantasy in which he played a starring role remained to be seen.  Chuckling under her breath, she went to relieve herself, and as she was washing her hands she glanced in the mirror, at the reflection of his dark suit, hanging from the hook on the back of the door.  Frowning a little, she reached for the hand towel, drying off.  A thought was forming in her head, a nagging curiosity that wouldn’t leave her alone, needling and boring at her as she pushed the damp towel through the chrome ring on the wall by the sink.  Who _was_ he?  Who was he _really_?

She told herself it was none of her business, but the sight of his suit had given her an idea that refused to leave.  Casting a nervous glance at the door, she quickly rummaged in the inside pocket of the jacket.  It felt wrong, enough that it made her cringe, but her curiosity was too strong.  Sure enough, tucked in the inside pocket of the coat, was a slim wallet made of soft black leather.  Hands shaking a little, she opened it up, and slid out one of the cards that sat in the holder, reading the name on it.  Closing the wallet, she slid it back into the depths of the pocket with a sigh, turning away.  Gold.  His name was Gold.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time, Lacey and Gold had a lot of sex, and Lacey found out his real name by snooping in his pockets. Here's what happened next.

When Lacey entered the bedroom again, Gold was standing at the dresser, refilling their champagne glasses, and she took a moment to savour how he looked from behind, all lean lines and a surprisingly pert arse.  Considering the fact that the guy was old enough to be her dad (probably older, if she was honest) he clearly knew how to take care of himself.  It was cool in the room, and so she unhooked one of the thick towelling robes from the bathroom door, drawing it on and tying the belt around her waist before climbing onto the bed.  She smiled up at him as he handed her a full glass, and he set down his own before retrieving the second robe and pulling it around himself.  Lacey took a drink, eyeing him as he climbed onto the bed beside her and sat back against the pillows.  He ran a hand through his hair, letting the soft strands slip through his fingers, and sighed.  The ends were damp, and she wondered if he could still smell her scent there.  She felt another low-down clench at the memory of his mouth on her, the feel of his stubble on her thighs.  He glanced across at her and smiled briefly, raising his glass.

“You look thoughtful,” he said.  “Was there something you wanted to ask?”

Lacey pulled a face, sweeping her eyes up and down his body.

“You were wearing a suit when you got here,” she observed.

“Yes.”  He took a sip of champagne.

“And then you changed into the shirt and jeans.”

“I did.”

“Okay, so here’s my question.”  She turned to face him.  “Why not just come over in the shirt and jeans in the first place?”

Gold took another drink, swallowing before flicking his eyes across to her.

“Because clothes can be armour,” he said.  “They can shield you from the world.  Or they can make you into something you’re not, like putting on a costume, like slipping your skin and becoming something else for the time you wear them, do you understand?”

Lacey hesitated before answering.  There was a knowing glint in his eyes, and once more she had that sudden, terrifying thought that he could see right through her, into the depths of her soul.  She licked her lips, and shrugged as though it didn’t matter.

“I put my lucky panties on tonight, if that’s what you mean,” she said, in an offhand tone.  He looked at her over the rim of his glass, his gaze steady, and she shivered, but then he blinked, turning away, and the spell was broken.  She took a drink for something to do, the bubbles fizzing against her tongue, and set her glass down on the nightstand.

“I guess pretending you’re someone else kind of comes with the job, huh?” she observed.  “Any other skills you need?  I mean apart from the obvious.”

He was silent for a moment, pursing his lips as though he was debating whether to answer her.

“You have to develop the ability to read people,” he said finally, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Are you good at reading people?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“And what do you see when you look at me?”

His face was still for a moment, so still it was as though his soul had fled his body and there was nothing but a shell before her, and she bit back an apology, an attempt to bring him back to her.  He had made the admission; she wanted to hear it.  After a moment he took a deep breath, and let it out in a long hiss, meeting her eyes, his expression solemn.

“I see intelligence,” he said.  “And the desire to hide it from those unworthy of you.”

Lacey blinked.  Not what she had expected.

“Is that it?” she asked, aiming for a tone more carefree than she felt.  His mouth twisted, and he glanced away as he took a drink, before turning back to her.

“I don’t think we should continue this conversation,” he said stiffly.

“Why not?”  She felt her eyebrows draw down.  “I thought this was _my_ night.  I’m paying you enough for it.”

His face sagged a little, and she wished she could take it back, wished she could stop speaking before thinking, wished she didn’t seem to know exactly what to say to hurt, to wound.  She opened her mouth to apologise, to say it didn’t matter, but he straightened up a little, looking at her with deep brown eyes that pierced and burned.

“Very well,” he said.  “I see a young woman desperate for attention, yet afraid to let anyone too close, as if to prove she needs no one.  A frightened child, screaming in defiance at the dark, but too stubborn to turn on a light.”

Lacey felt her mouth fall open.  His eyes were boring into her, right into her soul, and she felt her walls fly up, the walls she had painstakingly constructed, brick by brick, over the past ten years.

“Well, you wanna know what I see?” she demanded, and he looked away.

“Not especially.”

“I see a guy who thinks he’s a piece of shit for what he does, who can’t stop doing what he does for whatever reason, but who actually cares about the clients he has, and does his best with the shitty fucking hand he’s been dealt!” she snapped.

It was his turn to gape, and she raised her chin.

“I read people too, asshole,” she said witheringly, and snatched her glass up to take a drink.

There was silence for a moment, and she concentrated on the taste of the wine, on how it foamed on her tongue and made her light-headed.

“I’ve offended you,” he said at last.  “That wasn’t my intent.”

“Surprisingly enough, I knew that,” she said dryly, glancing at him.  “Maybe you should just kiss me, things seem to get all fucked up when you talk.”

“Story of my life,” he said with a grin, and she snorted.

“Yeah, you and me both,” she agreed.  “How about it?  Wanna kiss and make up?”

His grin widened, and he leaned in, his hand gently cupping her face as he lowered his mouth to hers.  She made a sound of enjoyment at the first touch of his tongue.  Yes.  The guy could definitely fucking kiss.  She relaxed into him, her hand moving around his waist to pull him closer, enjoying his warmth and his scent and the feel of him against her.  Eventually she pulled back with a sigh, and he kissed the tip of her nose.  She pushed herself up into a more comfortable position, picking up her glass to take a sip, and he followed suit.

“What else do you have in the bag?” she asked, gesturing with her glass, and the corner of his mouth pulled upwards.

“Toys,” he said.  “Would you like to see some?  I’ll need a little time to recover if you’re looking for me to perform, but that’s no reason for me to stop pleasing you.”

Lacey shivered at his words.   _Pleasing her._  He did that, certainly.  She set her glass down on the nightstand again, pushing herself to her feet.

“Let me look,” she said, and opened up the black leather bag.  It was filled with a large selection of accessories, and she pushed aside bottles of lube and condoms, a pair of cuffs and the paddles he had shown her earlier.  There were dildos in a variety of sizes and colours, some with unfamiliar attachments, and what she was sure was a strap-on.  There were also numerous small toys in silicone or plastic, which she suspected were vibrators, and there were butt plugs and beads and things she had giggled over with Ruby while searching online.

“Choose whatever you like,” he said.  “I suggest you take out some lube, as well.”

Lacey thought for a moment, then grabbed one of the small vibrators, a large dildo, and one of the smaller ridged butt plugs.  She threw them onto the bed with the lube, and met his eyes.

“First time for everything, right?” she said, and he raised an eyebrow.

“This is your night,” he said evenly.  “We’ll do whatever you want.  Within reason.”

“Well, I trust you,” she shrugged.  “If I’m gonna try something new, it should be with someone that isn’t gonna hurt me, y’know?”

Gold set his glass to the side, looking her over.  The robe swamped her tiny form, the sleeves too long for her, hiding her hands, only the tips of her slender fingers peeking out.  She seemed so fragile, so delicate, her brashness an act to keep her safe from those that would see vulnerability, and would punish her for it.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said quietly.  “Come here, Lacey.  Let me take care of you.”

Chewing her lip, she wavered for a moment before climbing onto the bed beside him, and he took her in his arms and gently rolled her onto her back as he kissed her.  She tasted good, the wine still on her tongue, her lips soft and smooth against his.  His hand crept inside the robe, cupping her breast, and she moaned into his mouth as he squeezed.  He kissed her slowly, his tongue stroking against hers, and his hand slipped out again, dropping to tug open the belt at her waist.  Gently pushing open the robe, his fingers inched inside, sliding down into the hollow of her waist and tugging her closer.  Lacey murmured in pleasure, her own hands starting to wander, sliding over his chest and brushing against his nipples.  The sensation made him groan, and she pushed the robe back off his shoulders, pulling her mouth from his and kissing down his neck and chest.  Aroused by her boldness, he stilled as she sucked a nipple into her mouth, sending jolts of sensation through him.  His cock twitched with interest, although he knew it would take a little time for him to be ready to take her again.  She kissed her way back up his chest and nipped at his neck with her teeth, and he growled and pushed the robe from her shoulders and down her arms, stripping it from her, leaving her naked on the bed.

She was lying back, her chest heaving with excitement, blue eyes watching him closely, and he reached for the things she had chosen, taking the bottle of lube and twisting the top to unlock the plunger.  Lacey bit her lip as he met her eyes, the bottle poised over the cleft between her legs, and he pressed the plunger down, lubricant squirting onto her in a thick, white spurt of fluid.  She squeaked a little in surprise at the coldness of it, and he threw the bottle to the side before spreading the lube with one finger, dipping in between her folds, making her slippery with it.  She moaned, writhing, and he grinned to himself as he reached for the small, bullet-shaped vibrator she had chosen.  The tiny button at the end of it tuned it on, a low buzzing noise making her eyes flick open, and he held it against her.

Lacey’s eyes widened, her lips parting in a loud moan at the feel of it.  He was grinning as he stroked her, the length of the vibrator slipping through her folds, the sensation making her body arch upwards, wanting more.  He was sliding it up and down, beside her swollen clit, the end of it dipping inside her, and she could feel her cheeks flush and her breathing harden as he worked her.  He kissed her then, his mouth warm and sweet against hers, his tongue gently stroking as he rubbed between her legs, and she could feel her climax building, her blood rushing, her heart thumping.  She clung to him, returning his kiss with a fierce hunger, stars swirling and seething behind her eyes, and she let out a high-pitched moan into his mouth as she came, pushing herself against him, sensations bursting through her and leaving her breathless.

She fell back into the pillows, gasping, and Gold watched her with a smug little grin on his face, clicking the end of the vibrator to turn it off.  She licked her lips, trying to catch her breath.

“Whoa!” she said, and he chuckled.

“A success, then,” he said, amused.

“Fucking right.”  She pushed herself up on her elbows, sending him a wry grin.  “That was _amazing_!  Just give me a minute, and we can try the other things.”

“Alright.”

He threw the vibrator to the side, lying down and spooning up around her back, his arm around her waist.  Lacey took some gulps of air, her heart rate slowing.  Her skin was still humming from his touch, from the sensations, her body wonderfully warm and content.  He kissed the back of her neck, and she hummed in appreciation, wriggling a little.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” he whispered, and she shivered at the feel of his breath on the nape of her neck.

“Keep doing that and it’ll be pretty soon, let me tell you,” she remarked, and her belly tightened at his low chuckle.  She lifted her head a little.  “What about you?  How - long?”

“Not too long,” he said, letting his fingers trail over the curve of her waist and hip.  “I find myself quite - aroused - by your presence, Miss French.”

 _Dammit, that accent is_ hot _!_

“I guess - I guess that’s not always the case, huh?” she asked.  “You must have clients that you don’t - I mean, that don’t - get you hot, right?”

“That’s a fair assumption.”  He kissed her neck again, shivers rippling through her body.

“So - how do you - deal?” she asked.  “If it’s none of my business just tell me, it’s cool.”

“I have chemical support in times of trouble,” he said.  “Occasionally I’ve had to rely on it.”

“But not tonight,” she said softly, wanting the reassurance from him, and felt him smile against her skin.

“No,” he breathed.  “Not tonight.”

Lacey sighed in pleasure, nuzzling her head against his.

“Touch me, then,” she whispered, and his hand slid down over her belly, fingers pushing in between her legs.  She was swollen and sensitive, and it was almost too much, her body stiffening, her legs pressing together.  He seemed to sense it, merely placing the warm weight of his palm over her mound as he kissed her neck.

“Are you ready?” he whispered, and she nodded, feeling him roll back from her to grab the items she had chosen.

“I’m going to start at the back, okay?” he told her.  “Let me know if you want me to stop.”

Lacey nodded, and he lifted her leg, draping it over his hip to give him access.  She heard the squirt of the lube bottle again, and then the sensation of it against her, cold liquid that quickly warmed when rubbed over her skin, spread all the way between her legs.  The pad of his thumb gently pushed against her tight rear opening before slowly sliding inside, and she let out a moan of pleasure at the feel of it.

“Good girl,” he murmured.  “You can take the plug.  I’m going to push it inside, okay?”

She nodded, and he withdrew his thumb.  There was the sound of another squirt of lube, then something cold and hard pressed against her.  Gold kissed her neck, his tongue stroking against her skin.

“Here we go,” he whispered, and began to push, the silicone sliding slowly into her.  It was a strange sensation, but pleasant, and she moaned as he pushed the plug all the way in, her body opening up around it.

“Good,” he said softly.  “That’s good, Lacey.  Are you alright?”

Nodding fiercely, she watched as he reached around her body with the long, purple dildo she had chosen.  His thumb flicked a button on the end, and it began to vibrate, making her wet her lips in anticipation.  The first touch of it against her already tender flesh was exquisite, and she moaned as he began to push it inside her, its length sliding all the way in, eased by her arousal.  Her eyes closed, a loud groan of pleasure erupting from her at the feel of it, and he began to slowly move it in and out, his other arm snaking beneath her to curl around her waist and pull her close, his fingers sliding down to rub at her.  The sensation was almost too much; the feel of being penetrated in two places, the vibrations running through her, the gentle stroke of his fingers against her clit, the wet heat of his mouth on her neck.  

Her senses were heightened, the pleasure magnified by each source of arousal, and she let herself drift as he worked, feeling her orgasm build, her cheeks flushing and her body tensing and tightening.  He seemed to sense that she was growing close, quickening the pace of his thrusts, and she let her moans increase in volume, pushing against him as he thrust and stroked and kissed, sensations rippling throughout her body until her vision turned black and her limbs jerked and she let out a scream of ecstasy, a wave of pure bliss crashing through her.

Gold felt her come, holding her close as she jerked and shook.  He kept his hands still, letting her twitch and moan and then collapse back against him as she came crashing down from her high.  She was panting for breath, and he slowly pulled the dildo out from inside her, its plastic length sticky with whitish cum.  Turning it off, and laying it to the side, he then reached around to carefully remove the plug.  Lacey moaned as he drew it out, and he kissed her shoulder.

“I’m just going to wash these,” he said quietly, and she murmured something incoherent.

He washed the toys, and his hands, quite thoroughly in the bathroom sink, and when he went back through to the bedroom she was lying in the same position, curled on her side with her knees drawn up a little.  He could still see the red stripes left by the crop, marring her perfect skin, and wished she had let him use the lotion on her.  She shifted as he lay back down on the bed, and he grinned to himself.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked.

“Mmpfh.”

“I see.”

She turned slowly to face him, eyes opening a crack to meet his own.

“My brains blew out,” she slurred.

“Ah.”  He grinned.  “How terrible.  And you a college student.  Doesn’t bode well.”

Lacey snorted, putting an arm around his waist.

“I think Dr Rush would say my brains blew out _long_ ago,” she said grumpily.

 _Hm.  The professor that caused all this._ He slid an arm around her and tugged her a little closer, and she nestled against his chest with a contented sigh.

“So,” he said.  “Astrophysics.  That was a new one on me, I have to say.”

Lacey giggled, breathing in the scent of his skin as her fingers danced over his waist.

“Yeah, sorry to be so specific,” she chuckled.  “I’ve kind of been locked in a battle of wills with my professor since day one, and I realised the other day the perfect way to blow off some steam.  Sorry the task fell to you.”

“Well, I’m not complaining,” he said.  “Perhaps you’ll go a little easier on the good Dr Rush after tonight.”

She snorted.  “Yeah, right!  Look, all this means is that I’m less likely to be pinning him down on his own desk and riding him hard.  Or possibly punching him in the face and then sucking him off, my mind seems to flip-flop between those two.”

“Hmm.”  He seemed amused.  “Your relationship with your professor appears to be - complicated.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” she growled.

“Don’t you like your lessons?”  His fingers were trailing up and down the groove of her spine, and it felt nice.  She sighed happily.

“I do enjoy the subject,” she admitted.  “It’s interesting, it really is, but I can’t seem to bring myself to really _try_ , you know?  I think that’s why Dr Rush gets so mad at me.”

“Perhaps you should switch classes,” he suggested, and she wrinkled her nose.

“No, I’ll stick with it,” she said.  “He may be a sarcastic arsehole, but he’s a good teacher, it’s not his fault I’m hopeless.”

“Are you?”  He raised an eyebrow at her, and she chewed her lip.

“Steady GPA of 2.5 so far,” she said, with a trill of fake pride, raising a fist in mock celebration before letting her arm fall back around his waist.

“Well, I would say that’s average,” he said.  “Certainly nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, and he gave her a knowing look, as though he were a teacher himself.

“And is it the best you can do?”

Lacey hesitated.

“To be completely honest, no,” she admitted.  “I know I could do better.  But it’s like I have this self-destruct button, and I can’t seem to stop slamming my hand against it.  Especially in Dr Rush’s class.  It’s weird, it’s like I _have_ to keep doing things that piss him off.  I can’t help it.”

Gold brushed her cheek, tucking a curl of hair behind her ear.

“Do you want to be punished?” he asked quietly.  “Is that what all this was about?”

Lacey hesitated before answering, swallowing the quip she had planned to make.  Something about him made her almost comfortable, made her want to be honest.

“I want to be _noticed_ ,” she said finally.  “Nothing worse than being ignored, right?”

*I think perhaps you’re asking the wrong person,” he said, and she let out a tiny snort of agreement.

“Yeah, I guess maybe I am,” she admitted, and stroked a hand over his waist.  She tugged at her lip with her teeth, unsure if she should ask what had been flitting around in her mind since she opened the door to him.  She decided she was too curious to let it go.  

“Do you - do you enjoy this?” she asked.  “What you do?”

Gold’s mouth flattened, his eyes a little weary.

“Some nights are better than others,” he said, in a tone that did not invite further questioning.  She supposed she could understand his reluctance to discuss his profession.

“Well, I’ll try to be nice,” she said, with a grin, and his mouth quirked.

“You’re very pleasant company,” he said.  “Can I get you a drink?  Some water, perhaps?”

“Please.”

She watched him as he got up and tugged the robe around himself.  There were bottles of sparkling water set on a silver tray on the desk, and he poured two glasses and brought them over, handing one to her as he sat back down.  She gulped at it, surprised by how thirsty she was.

“I - might take a shower,” she said.  “Want to join me?”

“We should keep an eye on the time,” he said.  “You requested four hours.”

“Oh.  About that.”  She turned the glass between her fingers, watching the water swirl before looking up at him.  “Would you - would you mind staying longer?  I mean if you have somewhere else to be, it’s cool…”

“I don’t have anywhere else to be,” he said.  “The agency will charge you, though.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” she said quickly.  “I just - I thought maybe…”  She chewed her lip nervously.  “I never spent the night with someone before.  Not properly.  I always leave right after.  Or they leave.  Or I’m not in a place where we can sleep, you know?”

“You want me to stay the whole night?” he asked.

“Is that okay?”

He was silent for a moment, seeming to weigh her request in his mind.

“Yes,” he said.  “That’s okay.”

 

00000

 

They took a shower, standing under the hot water and soaping one another with shower gel that produced a surprising amount of bubbles, fresh with the scent of grapefruit and fresh basil.  Lacey leaned back against the cool tiles, letting him kiss his way down over her breasts before he put his mouth to hers, the water making their lips slide against each other.  When he slipped his fingers between her legs, she pressed herself to him, wanting him inside her, and lifted her face up to the warm spray, water running into her mouth as she moaned her pleasure and ground against his hand.  It wasn’t enough, though, and she pulled away from him, tugging him with her as she turned off the water and snatched up a towel.  They dried off carelessly between kisses, beads of water still clinging to their skin as they stumbled into the bedroom, and Lacey almost fell backwards onto the bed, tugging him with her.  He paused to dip into the bag, climbing on beside her and covering her body with his, his mouth searching, sliding, sucking.

She let her head roll back with a sigh as he worked his way down, his lips sucking at first one nipple, then the other, his hands cupping and squeezing, making her moan with need.  His tongue slipped lower, over the taut plane of her belly, dipping into her navel as his hands moved down to her hips.  She whimpered as he moved lower, pushing his way down the bed and in between her legs, his stubble scraping her skin.

His tongue flickered out to taste her, and she arched up with a cry, her fingers digging into his wet hair.  His groan of arousal made her belly tighten, and she gripped the sides of his head with her inner thighs as he licked her, his tongue swirling over hot flesh.  He pushed a finger inside her, sliding deep, his tongue wrapping around it before sweeping over her clit, and then he began to rub with the pad of his thumb, alternating slow circles with sweeps of his tongue.  The sensation was incredible, and she moaned at the feel of him, the soft wetness of his tongue, the firm length of his finger, sliding in and out of her.  He added a second, and it was almost too much to bear, her body tensing, her breath whistling in her lungs, her head craning back into the pillows as she yearned for release.

His tongue flickered over her once more, his stubble scratching against sensitive skin, and she was gone.  Her climax broke, and she felt laughter bubble up from inside her: intense, uncontrollable, genuine laughter.  She lay there giggling like a madwoman as her body tingled and hummed, and he drew out the fingers and pushed himself up on his hands, grinning at her with his face all sticky with her juices.  She still felt as though there were electric shocks running through her, and she shook her head disbelievingly.

“Oh my _God_!” she gasped, staring at him.  “Where the hell did you learn to do _that_?”

Gold raised an eyebrow, and she waved a dismissive hand, letting her arm fall over her face as her chuckling eased off.

“Forget it, dumb question.”  Thoughts needled her brain, and she moved the arm, grinning up at him.  “Okay, but is there like gigolo college?  Fingering 101?  Give a mind-blowing orgasm five different ways to pass with honours?  Extra credits for kinks?  What’s _your_ GPA, huh?”

His mouth twitched, and she could sense he was amused.

“I majored in cunnilingus,” he said gravely, and she snickered.

“I can tell.  Glad to see you studied something that has plenty of real-world application.  I’d hate for all that academic ability to go to waste.”

He chuckled, his eyes crinkling, and she decided that he was incredibly handsome.  Not drop-dead, traffic-stopping, gorgeous-at-first-sight handsome, but that true beauty that increased with the years, that came from character.  He made his way up the bed on hands and knees to take her in his arms again, and she reached up to brush his hair back.

“I want you,” she whispered.  “I want you inside me.  Are you ready?”

His smile widened.

“I’m ready,” he whispered, and kissed her as he reached for one of the condoms.

Gold pulled back a little so he could roll it on, looking down on her.  Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted and her breath heavy.  She was breathtakingly beautiful, and he was saddened by what seemed to be a lack of self-belief, of self-love, all hidden behind the mask she wore.  He reached up to cup her cheek, his thumb tenderly stroking over her lip, and she swallowed hard.  

“Guess I’d better roll over, huh?” she whispered, and he shook his head.

“You can if you want to,” he said.  “If that would make you more comfortable.  But - if you don’t mind, of course - I’d rather like to see your beautiful face.”

She appeared to hesitate, and for a moment he thought she’d refuse, but then she nodded.

“It’ll be a little different to what I’m used to,” she admitted.  “But then I guess that’s what tonight was about, right?”

He simply smiled, and she raised her chin, lifting her head to kiss him as he moved to lie in between her legs.  She lifted her knees a little as he pushed up against her, and she moaned into his mouth as he slid inside, sinking deep into her, her legs wrapping around him and tugging him close.  He began to move, slowly, his hips rolling in a circular motion, grinding against her as he slipped in and out.

Lacey let her hands slide up his back to his shoulders as she kissed down his throat to his chest.  She could feel every bit of him, could smell his scent, not wholly masked by the fragrance of the shower gel, mixed with the light musk of her own arousal on his skin.  She let her tongue swipe across his chest, running over his nipple, and a groan rumbled through him as he thrust, the feel of him making her gasp against his skin.  She raised her head to look at him, and he was staring at her with an intensity that almost made her want to cry.  This was new to her; usually she had guys take her from behind, or shove her against a wall where she could turn her face away from them.  Either that or she straddled them and took control herself.  Lying here beneath him, his eyes gazing into her soul, her mouth sucking his breath into her lungs as though she would make him a part of her: this was different.  The intimacy of it, the closeness, had shaken her, and she worried her lip with her teeth for a moment, swallowing hard.  

His hands moved, sliding up her sides, up her arms, his fingers threading through hers as he pushed her hands down into the pillows, and he bent his head to kiss her.  His tongue stroked the soft walls of her mouth, his cock pushing in and out of her, the feel of his body causing wonderful friction as he thrust, and she could feel herself rising, lifting, soaring.  It began with a whimper low in her throat, a high, desperate sound, and she lifted her hips, increasing the pressure, moving against him.  He groaned into her mouth, and she pulled her lips from his, her moans increasing, her fingers tightening around his as she felt herself reach her peak.  She arched her body into his with a hoarse cry, pumping her hips against him, and he kissed her neck, sinking his teeth into her as he groaned with desire.

“May I come, Lacey?” he growled.  “Please, may I come?”

She nodded fiercely, and he unwound his hands from hers, sliding both arms beneath her to hug her close as he pumped his hips, his body tense and rigid.  She dug her nails into his shoulders as he thrust into her with a loud cry of pleasure, his cock pulsing inside her, and she peppered his face with kisses, still moving against him, pulling every last drop from him.

After a moment he pulled his arms free and collapsed onto her with a long, shuddering gasp of release, and she stroked his hair, still trying to catch her breath.  It was as though the air was filled with sparks, dancing across their skin, and she blinked rapidly, trying to clear the shadows from her vision.  She wanted to thank him.  She wanted to tell him how incredible that had been, how intimate, how mind-blowing, but she couldn’t seem to form words.  Instead, she let her fingers card his hair in a slow rhythm, as though by that tenderness she could let him know how grateful she was.  He let out a long, low sigh, and there was silence for a moment.

Eventually he stirred, pushing up onto his elbows, and she sent him a smile that wobbled slightly.

“Well, that was pretty cool,” she said, wanting to cringe at the understatement, and a slow grin spread across his face.

“I’m pleased to have been of service,” he said, and reached between them to grasp the base of the condom before pulling out of her.

While he was in the bathroom, she decided to get into bed.  They had been extremely busy since he entered the hotel room, and if she was honest, she was getting a little sleepy.  She drank the last of her champagne, settling down beneath the blankets and clicking off the bedside lamp, and watched with heavy eyes as he came back in and climbed in beside her.  He switched off his own lamp and held out an arm, and she nestled against his side, enjoying the feel of his body against hers as she drifted towards sleep

“Don’t leave me,” she murmured.  “I don’t want to wake up alone.”

He kissed her forehead, the press of his lips warm and comforting.

“I promise,” he whispered.  “Get some rest, Lacey.”

Gold tightened his arm around her, his hand stroking her hair in a gentle rhythm.  She rubbed her face against his chest, like an affectionate kitten, and he smiled as he felt her body relax, his own eyes closing in response to her soft warmth.

 

00000

 

He found that Lacey didn’t allow him to sleep long, waking him with kisses and touches in the dark of the night.  It was highly unusual for a client to ask him to stay, and so waking up with company was somewhat disorientating.  He felt a smile creep across his face as her wet little mouth trailed over his chest, her hand sliding down over his belly and between his legs to grasp his hardening cock.  He was going to be good for nothing for a few days after this job.

When they were done, they slept until dawn, whereupon she woke him again with her kisses, and it was his turn to slip beneath the blankets and kiss his way down her body.  He didn’t stop at her chest, and her cries soon drove away the last of his drowsiness.

She offered to order breakfast for him, and given that he had a long drive back, he agreed, so she called room service and they ate Eggs Florentine and croissants and a bowl of fresh berries with thick yoghurt and honey.  She looked every bit as beautiful with rumpled hair and smudged mascara and very little sleep, and he felt as though he’d been beaten up with something heavy.  Still, the extra hours meant that he could take the whole of the next week off, if he wanted.  Although he probably wouldn’t.

As the clock ticked around to eight a.m., he dressed in his suit, checking in the mirror as he knotted the silk tie around his neck.  His jeans, shirt and waistcoat were back in the suit bag, his toys cleaned and packed away in the leather holdall, and she had pulled on one of the bathrobes again and was watching him, looking a little unsure of herself.  He shrugged on his overcoat, turning to face her.

“Well then,” he said quietly, and she sidled closer.

“Thank you,” she said, and rose up on her toes to kiss his cheek.  “That was - well, it was pretty much the best night of my life, so thanks for ruining me for the future.”

She grinned to show that she was kidding, and he smiled back.

“Good luck in your classes,” he said.  “Try not to give Dr Rush too hard a time, alright?  And try not to give yourself a hard time either.  You deserve better.”

Lacey shifted from foot to foot, her awkwardness returning with the rising sun.

“Maybe I’ll turn over a new leaf,” she offered, and he smiled.

“Maybe you will.”

He inclined his head to her, almost a bow, and picked up his bags, heading for the door.  He could feel her eyes on him, and met her gaze for a moment as he let the door close behind him, cutting her off from his vision, and out of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Lacey decides to make some changes to her approach to studying


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time, Lacey had an exhausting evening of passion with Gold, and started to realise that perhaps she needed to take a new approach to her studies. Particularly where Rush was concerned.

Lacey took her time in the hotel room, taking herself back to bed for an hour so that she could pull up the sheets that still smelt of him and breathe in his scent.  She was tired, her muscles aching, a little sore between the legs, but she hadn’t been joking when she had told him it was the best night of her life.  Sighing to herself, she poured some more coffee and settled back against the pillows with her phone.  Looking through her messages, she found a few texts from Ruby asking how things were going, the last one (sent after midnight) a little worried.  She texted back quickly, not knowing whether Ruby would be awake, but her phone rang moments later.

“Oh, thank God!” was Ruby’s opening line.  “You should have messaged, I was worried!”

“Sorry.”  Lacey felt a little guilty.  “There was no need, really.  I’m fine.  Better than fine.”

Ruby cackled.  “Itch well and truly scratched, then?”

“I’m probably good until finals,” said Lacey, and they both giggled.

“Did he really look like Rush?” asked Ruby curiously.

“He was even Scottish,” said Lacey, and grinned at the strangled noise of amusement  Ruby made.

“Holy crap!  And it _definitely_ wasn’t him?”

“God, no!  Weird resemblance, though.”  Lacey picked up her coffee cup.  “He has more grey in his hair, and he's not as thin.  Nice ass, though, so they have that in common."

"Can't say I've ever noticed Rush's ass," said Ruby dryly, and Lacey sniffed.

"You don't know what you're missing," she said.  "He was calmer than Rush.  Sort of - contained, you know?  Really, _really_ good with his tongue.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna need the details later,” said Ruby.

Lacey took a slurp of her coffee, savouring the bitter taste.

“How about you?” she asked.  “How did it go with Dorothy?”

“Oh, it was okay,” said Ruby airily.  “That is, it was _awesome_ and we talked all night and we kissed and there was some fooling around - okay there was a _lot_ of fooling around and long story short I totally have a new girlfriend and I’m going to bore you senseless talking about her for the next six months!”

Lacey snickered.  “Can’t wait.  How about you tell me when I get home?  I need to get some decent sleep before class tomorrow, but I’m up for red wine and sex talk later.”

“It’s a date.”  Ruby blew her a kiss and rang off, and Lacey dropped her phone on the bed with a happy sigh, wriggling down in the blankets.

 

00000

 

It was much later, after they had discussed their respective experiences and giggled with one another over the events of the previous night, that Lacey grew thoughtful, turning her wineglass between her fingers.

“What’s up?” asked Ruby, settling herself more comfortably on the pillows to her side.

Lacey hesitated, her mouth twisting a little.

“Okay, here’s the thing,” she said eventually.  “I kind of talked through some stuff with - Mr Devine - and I think I’m gonna rewrite that paper for Rush.  I’ll go and see him after classes finish on Tuesday, see what he says.”

Ruby blinked.  “Seriously?  You spent hours doing that paper.”

“I spent longer than I should have, doing a half-assed job,” admitted Lacey, squirming uncomfortably.  “I’m not expecting him to grade it, just - just let me know how he _would_ have graded it.  Set me on the right path, you know?”

Ruby was staring at her, and she shrugged, self-conscious.

“I think - I think maybe I need to turn over a new leaf, Rubes,” she said.  “Maybe I should start putting some effort in, for a change.  In all my classes.”

“I’ve been saying this to you since the first semester,” Ruby reminded her dryly.

“I know, I know!”  Lacey fell back against the pillows with a sigh, wine sloshing in the glass she held.  “I know I’ve been fucking up, I just couldn’t seem to see a way out of it.”

“And now you do?”  Ruby took a slurp of wine, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe.”  She chewed her lip.  “I can try, at least.  Wouldn’t hurt, right?”

“Dr Rush will think all his birthdays have come at once,” remarked Ruby, grinning, and Lacey rolled her eyes.

“Dr Rush can get fucked,” she growled.

 

00000

 

Rush wrote a final, scathing comment on the paper in front of him and underlined it twice with strokes of red ink that almost tore the paper.  Dropping the pen, he leaned back in his chair with a frustrated sigh, rubbing his hands over his face to clear tired eyes.  When would they ever _listen_?  Or do the fucking reading like he asked?  He resisted the temptation to give the paper an F.  It really wasn’t _that bad_ if he thought about it rationally; it merited a pass, but just barely.  The fact that it was Lacey French’s script hadn’t escaped him, and he told himself not to allow his personal feelings about that particular student colour his marking of their work.

Pushing back his chair, he went to the hotplate, picking up the pot that had been sitting there for hours and pouring the last of the coffee into his cup in a dark, bitter stream.  He really wanted a cigarette, but the Dean had told him that if he was caught smoking in the building again he’d have to go before the board and explain himself, and he couldn’t be fucking arsed with that level of bureaucratic shite, thank you very much.  Besides, it would set the smoke alarms off.  The fact that one had been installed in the ceiling of his office a few weeks ago hadn’t been lost on him, and he silently cursed the faculty and the anti-smoking zealots that seemed intent on driving him insane.  He’d just have to wait until he left the university building.

Sipping at his coffee, he sat back down and pulled the paper towards him again, scowling at it.  Lacey bloody French.  Five-feet-two of sass and snark and a bloody good mind that she refused to use, a mind that she was killing with late nights and binge-drinking and whatever the hell else she got up to when she wasn’t slumped in his class, glaring at him like he’d been put on the earth to offend her.  He ran a hand over his mouth and chin, feeling the rasp of stubble beneath his fingers.  It wouldn’t have been a problem for him if she was actually stupid.  If she tried her best and didn’t quite grasp what he wanted her to, that would have been fine.  He could have taken her aside and given her a little one-on-one feedback, spent some time with her to try to improve her performance.  But she was clever, as much as she tried to hide it.  When she forgot who she was trying to be, when she cast aside the false, if carefully constructed, don’t-give-a-fuck persona she had created, her comments were insightful, her questions interesting, inquisitive.  He had tried to encourage that in the very first week she had been in his class, but she had pulled back from him, pretending a lack of understanding that he didn’t believe.  It had made him angry, and he had reverted to his default mode of sarcasm and profanity, to which she had responded in kind.  And now they were in the position of him having to find reasons not to fail pieces of her work, when he knew she was more than capable of passing well.  It was highly frustrating.

It didn’t help, of course, that she was attractive.  Beautiful, even, though he tried not to think about her in that way.  He wasn’t _allowed_ to think of her in that way, after all.  But she _was_ beautiful, with her wide blue eyes and her soft mouth and her porcelain skin, her slender, shapely legs and…

Growling under his breath and mentally calling himself a fucking pervert, he looked through the paper again, reading over some of his comments.  Admittedly they were harsh, but quite frankly she fucking deserved it.  Perhaps it would be the kick up the arse she needed.  Of course, he told himself that every week, but he held onto the slender hope that she would want to turn things around, that she would want to be the best that she could.  A fool’s hope, it seemed.

A knock at the door roused him from his brooding, and he glanced up before looking back at her paper.

“Come!” he said absently, and listened to the creak of hinges as the door swung open.

“Hey, Dr Rush,” said a familiar voice.

He looked up, tapping his pen against the paper in front of him.  Lacey French closed the door behind her, shoving it with her backside until it clicked, and stood there, watching him with those blue eyes of hers and chewing her lip.  She had sidled into the room, rather than breezing in with her usual brash disregard for his concentration, and was now leaning back against the door, looking unsure of herself.

“Miss French,” he said tiredly, looking at her over the top of his glasses.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I - I wanted to talk to you about my work,” she said hesitantly, and he sat back a little, throwing down his pen.

“Really?” he said flatly.  “So you think the swill you just made me mark is something I want to devote more time to, do you?”

“I…”  She bit her lip, looking awkward.  “Actually, I thought…”

He snatched up her paper, the sheets covered in red scrawl, waving it at her in his agitation.

“Are you trying to piss me off?” he demanded.  “Is that it?  What the hell were you thinking when you handed this in?”

Her brows drew down, and she seemed to shrink in on herself a little.

“I - I thought it was enough for a pass,” she muttered, glowering at him.

“A _pass_?”  He threw the paper down in disgust.  “Barely.  Is that all you want from this class?  To fucking scrape by?  Is that how you intend to go through life?”

“Well, it’s not like I need to bloody work,” she said, her defensiveness obvious.  It only made him angrier.

“Oh, well, lucky fucking you!” he spat.  “You think you can just sit on your arse and sail through life without putting any effort in, all because those who went before you actually worked for a fucking living?”

She bristled at his criticism, her cheeks flushing.

“What I do with my life is none of your fucking business!” she snapped, jabbing a thumb at her chest.  “You’re not here to be my fucking guidance counsellor!”

“No, I’m not,” he snapped back.  “I’m here to teach you what I know, to encourage you to think for yourself, to help you achieve what I know you’re capable of.  Have you any idea how frustrating it is to see potential wasted?”

Lacey scowled, folding her arms across her chest.

“Why do you even care?” she spat, and he threw up his hands.

“You think I haven’t seen this before?” he demanded.  “You think I don’t know when a student is fucking coasting?  Give me some fucking credit!”

“Like it’s any of your business anyway!” she snapped, her eyes flashing blue fire.  “What do _you_ care if I fucking fail!  It’s not like it affects you!  D’you think I haven’t already chewed your ass out on ratemyprofessor?”

“As if I give a fucking shit what you whine about on social media!” he scoffed.  “The point is that I hate _waste_ , Miss French.  And what I see when I look at you is exactly that.  Waste.  A waste of your father’s money and a complete and utter waste of my time.”

Lacey looked as though he had slapped her face, her mouth sucking in air in a shuddering breath of shocked, hurt disbelief.  His breath was coming hard in his chest, his body almost shaking with anger, and she was blinking rapidly, as though she was trying not to cry.

“You fucking bastard!” she growled, and he took a step closer, noting how her fists clenched and her chest heaved and his body seemed to respond in kind.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I tell you some fucking home truths?” he asked, aware that his accent had thickened with his anger.  “You’re so used to getting your own fucking way you don’t like it when someone tells you something you can’t face, is that it?”

“You haven’t told me _anything_!” she sneered, curling her lip.  “What the hell are you anyway?  A workaholic, sarcastic asswipe hopped up on caffeine who probably hasn’t gotten laid in five years!”

Well, that was below the fucking belt.  Accurate, but still…

“Don’t you _ever_ speak to me like that again!” he spat, and she put her hands on her hips.

“Or what?” she demanded.  “I came over here to talk to you about something important, and all you can do is tell me what a fucking failure I am?  Well, thanks for fucking _nothing_!  Like I needed it confirming!”

“Sometimes the truth hurts,” he said, his tone clipped.  “But if you…”

“Yeah, well so does a knee to the crotch!”

“...but if you take the time to listen to what I’m saying,” he continued. “You’ll see…”

“Oh, go screw yourself, Rush!”

“You’re _better_ than this!” he snapped.

 _“I know!”_ she shouted, glaring at him, and he started, blinking at her in astonishment.  Her chest was heaving, her jaw protruding as her eyes threw daggers at him, and he settled back on his heels, trying to calm himself.

“You _know_?” he echoed, more calmly.  “Well, if you know, why do you insist on sabotaging your studies?”

“I don’t…”  She spun away from him in frustration, running hands through her hair before swivelling back and spreading her arms.  “I don’t _know,_  okay?  I know I could do better, I know I could if I tried, I just…”  She raised her hands and let them fall, a helpless expression on her face.

“You just what?” he said coldly, and she raised her eyes to the ceiling.

“Look, I can’t help it,” she said, almost pleadingly.  “I’ve been pushing back against expectations for years now, and it’s like it’s my default setting.  Most teachers don’t give a shit as long as you pass.”

“I’m not most teachers,” he said, and she gave him a flat look.

“No, you’re a fucking arsehole,” she said.  “But I know you actually care if your students learn shit, and…”

 _“‘Learn shit?’”_ he interrupted, repeating her words in a sneering tone.  “I’m trying and failing to teach you physics, Miss French.  If that’s the level of respect you have for the subject I suggest you stick to making a bloody exhibition of yourself and let me get on with teaching those who actually want to learn.”

Lacey drew herself up, the fire gone from her eyes, her face suddenly emotionless.

“Then I don’t know why I bothered coming here.” she said coldly.  “What use is it?  Not like I can change your opinion of me, is it?

“Well, maybe if you stopped spending your weekends in a drunken stupor you’d have more success,” he said nastily.

Before the words were out of his mouth, he knew he had made a mistake, and her eyes seemed to bulge with outrage.  She took a step forwards, until she was mere inches from him, shoving her face up to his and jabbing his chest with a finger.  She smelt of roses and vanilla, her scent threading itself through his senses and pulling him to her.  He swallowed hard, meeting her gaze, her clear blue eyes filled with disdain.  Her lips were slick and glistening with some kind of gloss, and he found himself wondering how she’d taste if he kissed her.

“D’you wanna know what I _actually_ did last weekend, Dr Rush?” she demanded.  “I wasn’t in a drunken stupor, I _assure_ you.  What I did was hire a guy who looked like you and paid him to fuck me until I forgot my own name!”

Rush had opened his mouth, ready for a stinging retort, but found himself gaping at her like an idiot.

“I - _what?_ ” he said helplessly.  

Lacey settled back on her heels, raising her chin so she could look down the length of her small, perfect nose at him.

“I fucked your doppelganger,” she said loftily.  “I had him dress like you and bend me over the desk in my hotel room and finger me until I screamed, then he spent the rest of the night making me see more stars than you’ve ever fucking _dreamed of_!”

She was furious, her chest heaving, her nostrils flaring, and he was in awe of her beauty, her fire.  His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, and he cast his eyes about the room as though looking for assistance before flicking them back to her.

_Say something, you fucking numpty!_

_“What?”_ he repeated, and Lacey glared at him, a disgusted expression on her face.

 _Oh, fucking_ brilliant _!  Seriously, you’re a_ genius _!_

“Oh, forget it,” she muttered, and turned away to dig in her purse.  Taking out a sheaf of paper, she waved it at him.  “I rewrote that paper.  Not expecting a grade or anything, I just wanted you to read through it and tell me where I went wrong, but I guess it doesn’t matter.”

She threw the paper at his desk, and it made a flat, slapping sound as it hit the pile of graded papers already there.  He was still staring at her, his tongue seemingly glued to the roof of his mouth, and she curled her lip.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Dr Rush,” she said.  “Thanks for the fucking pep talk.   _Really_ helped.”

She stomped out, slamming his office door behind her, and Rush was left standing there with his mouth still open, wondering what the hell had just happened.

 

00000

 

The bar of _The Rabbit Hole_ was its usual noisy, fetid self, the place reeking of spilled beer and sweat and cheap deodorant.  Ruby swivelled back and forth on one of the stools, admiring the flawless dark red polish on her perfect nails.  She had given herself a manicure before venturing out, and was pleased with the results.  Her short, smooth nails looked as though they had been dipped in blood, shining wetly in the light from the yellowish lamps above the bar.  The bartender tipped a double measure of whisky into a glass with ice, and she licked her lips.  

“Kill me,” came a familiar voice from behind her.

Lacey grabbed the glass from the bartender before Ruby could take it, earning a squawk of protest.

“Just fucking kill me,” she said despondently.

She slid onto a barstool, and Ruby motioned to the bartender for another glass.

“What’s up, sweetie?” she asked.

Lacey tossed back some of the whisky, feeling it trace fire down the back of her throat, and pulled a face, trying to ignore the feeling of cringing discomfort in her belly.

“I told Rush what I did,” she muttered, and Ruby’s eyes widened.

“You did _what_?”

“I know, I know, i couldn’t help it!”  She buried her nose in her glass again before looking up, mouth twisted with frustration.  “He was just being such an _arse_!”

“But - but I thought you went there to talk about your change in attitude,” said Ruby, crinkling her brow in puzzlement, and Lacey grimaced.

“Yeah, we kind of didn’t get to that,” she admitted.  “He started chewing me out because of that last paper I handed in, and I just lost it.  Told him how I spent my weekend, swore a lot, and stormed out.”

“Lacey…” groaned Ruby.

“I know....”  She took another drink.  “Fuck him.  I mean not _literally_ , because he wouldn’t pull his head of his ass long enough to even _look_ at me, just…”  She shrugged, tossing back the whisky and banging the glass on the bar to catch the bartender’s eye.

“Sorry,” said Ruby, squeezing her shoulder, and Lacey shrugged again.

“Forget it.  Class tomorrow, but he thinks I’m a total loser, so I guess I could get blind drunk and it wouldn’t fucking matter.”

“You could still do the work,” Ruby pointed out.

“Oh, I’m kidding, I’ll do the fucking work.”  Lacey gestured to the bartender and pointed at their glasses, securing another round of drinks for them.  “I’m not giving that little shit the satisfaction of thinking I’m a quitter.  Besides, I have that stuff for Psych to get through, too.  If I’m turning over a new leaf, might as well do it properly.”

“That’s my girl.”  Ruby clinked their glasses in a toast, and Lacey grinned in response.

“So.”  Ruby took a sip.  “I take it you’re not staying out too late tonight.”

Lacey wrinkled her nose.

“Nah, I can’t,” she said regretfully.  “I’ll stay for another, and then I’d better get home.  What about you?”

“Ariel said she’d be here just after seven,” said Ruby.  “I’m not gonna be here all night; I’ll see you later.  Maybe we can get some take-out.”

“Sounds good.”  Lacey drank a little more of her whisky, and Ruby put her head to the side.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” she asked.  “We can come back with you, you know.”

“No, I need to get some work done.”  Lacey drained her glass.  “Get another round.”

“You’re gonna try to do your Astrophys and Pysch homework after three double whiskies?” said Ruby skeptically.  “I mean, you’re good, Lace, but seriously?”

“Oh ye of little faith,” said Lacey loftily, and waved at the bartender again.  “If Rush was here I could totally talk physics with him.”

“Like how to measure thrust?” asked Ruby innocently, and snickered as Lacey shot her a look.

“I told you, there’s no chance of me measuring anything where he’s concerned,” she said, trying not to sound bitter, and nodded her thanks at the bartender as he set two fresh glasses down.  “At least tell me you’re seeing Dorothy again this week.  I have to get my vicarious smoochies somehow.”

Ruby grinned, a happy, almost peaceful expression on her face.  Lacey found that she envied her.  It was an unexpected, somewhat painful feeling, and she shoved it aside and squeezed Ruby’s arm to show her support.

“We’re going out Thursday night,” confided Ruby.  “Which means I can tell you how it goes at girls’ night on Friday, okay?”

“She should come,” said Lacey, in an offhand tone.  “If you want her to, I mean.  Aurora keeps talking about bringing that Mulan chick, and I _know_ there’s something going on there.  Ariel and I could stand around and make awkward conversation while the rest of you kiss.”

Ruby snickered.  “Maybe someday,” she agreed.  “For now I’d like to keep it just us.”

Lacey grinned, and raised her glass.

“Okay, I’ll drink this, then I’ll go,” she said, with a tinge of regret.

“You should at least wait for Ariel to get here,” said Ruby.  “We can walk you back to the apartment.”

“It’s not even two blocks,” said Lacey patiently.  “I’ll be fine.  Just don’t wake me up when you get home.”

“I thought you were gonna be studying,” said Ruby sternly, and Lacey grinned.

“All work and no play…” she said innocently.

 

00000

 

Rush had been unable to concentrate on his marking after Lacey had left, slamming the door behind her and leaving nothing behind but a faint whiff of her perfume and his own extreme bewilderment.  He had tried to finish grading the papers on his desk, but images of a naked Lacey with a man who looked like him - of a naked Lacey with _him_ \- kept sliding into his brain.  Eventually he threw down his pen with a growl of frustration and picked up the paper that she had thrown onto his desk.  He supposed he might as well look through it.  Leaning back in his chair, he started reading, the red pen lying within easy reach.  Much to his surprise, however, he found that he rarely needed to use it.  Her definitions were good, her calculations accurate.  There were one or two errors that he picked out, but overall it was a very promising piece, and he was by turns impressed at the work she had produced, and angry that she had provided evidence that up to now, she had been putting in almost no effort.  

Frowning to himself, he threw down the paper and leaned back in his chair, thinking.  His mind kept sliding back to her words, the assertions she had thrown at him, her claim that she had paid someone that looked like him for sex.  He was surprised that there was a doppelganger out there - poor bastard, if he existed - and even more surprised that she would want to sleep with him.  She certainly hadn’t given him any indication of that before, and he wholeheartedly wished that she hadn’t said anything.  It would make class ten times harder if he was wondering if she thought about him when she touched herself.  

Growling under his breath in frustration at his own weakness, he decided to go and get himself a drink.  A few stiff whiskies, a hot shower and some frantic masturbation would no doubt rid his mind of the highly erotic and wholly inappropriate thoughts he was having about his most problematic student.  

He made his way out of the university buildings, lighting up a cigarette and taking a long, calming drag on it before letting smoke billow from between his lips in a narrow plume.  Hunching his shoulders against the cold, he stomped off, thinking about where to go to drink himself into a pleasant stupor.  Ten minutes later he found himself in one of the nearby streets, looking up at the square sign with a stylised rabbit’s head poking out of a black circle.   _The Rabbit Hole_ was written above in blocky letters, and Rush shrugged and walked into the bar, curling his lip as two young men pushed past him, somewhat the worse for wear.

“Sorry, buddy,” muttered one of them, breathing rum all over him, and he felt his mouth flatten in response.

He rarely visited the bars near the university, but he had thought that it might be quieter midweek.  It seemed to be; there were some empty tables, and the barstools all seemed to be occupied by young women in very short skirts.  He hesitated as he recognised one of Lacey’s friends.  Ruby?  He thought that was her name.  She was staring at him with narrowed eyes, and he suspected that she knew _exactly_ what he had said to her friend.  Deciding that he didn’t need a drink that fucking badly, he turned on his heel, thankful at least that Lacey herself wasn’t there.

 

00000

 

Lacey washed her hands in the dented stainless steel sink, glaring at the reflection cast by the muted yellowish glow from the lights above.  Eyeing herself critically, she thought she looked tired, but she supposed that was hardly surprising given the weekend she’d had.  She was determined to implement her new work ethic, though; she had made a deal with herself about that, even if Rush didn’t care.  The thought of him knowing that he’d gotten under her skin made her cringe.

Scowling to herself, she barged out of the bathroom door and gasped in shock as she came face to face with Rush, his eyes widening on seeing her.  He was wearing that bloody brown jacket that went so well with his eyes and hair, and that fucking belt buckle that pulled her eyes to his crotch whenever she was in class, and the white shirt that looked so good on him.  The whole outfit made her remember being well and truly fucked by Gold, and she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to shove him down on the floor and ride him until he begged for mercy, or to slap him right in his stupid scruff-covered face.  He cast his eyes about as though he was looking for somewhere to hide.

“Miss French,” he said, by way of greeting, and she curled her lip.

“Just leaving,” she muttered, and shoved past him.  She stumbled towards the door, tugging her coat around herself and praying he wouldn’t speak to her.

“Miss French!”

_Dammit!_

She wrenched open the door, ignoring him and hoping he’d get the bloody message.  The night air was very cold, and she shivered, wishing she’d wrapped up a little more.  Shoving her hands in her pockets, she stomped off as fast as her high heels could carry her, praying that she wouldn’t slip in the icy weather and fall on her ass.  As she approached the end of the block she could hear footfalls behind her, approaching fast, and she sighed to herself, turning so swiftly that she made him stumble backwards, his eyes widening in alarm.

“What?” she demanded, and he opened his mouth, looking trapped.

“I - read your paper,” he said eventually, and she rolled her eyes.

“Great.  Talk to me after class tomorrow, I’m going home.”  

She turned away, taking the sharp right that led to her apartment.

“Oh, fuck it all, would you _wait_?”  

She could hear him behind her, and she muttered under her breath as she quickened her pace.

“Go home, Dr Rush,” she said aloud.  “Go drink some coffee or something.  Gotta get that rampant insomnia going so you can be even more of an arsehole, am I right?”

“Your paper was good.”

Lacey stilled outside the door to her apartment building, watching her breath mist the air before her, and turned slowly to face him.  He was standing a pace or so back, one thumb tucked in his belt, and she wondered what would happen if she were ever to undo it, to unbuckle his belt and pull open the zipper of his jeans and push them down his legs, falling to her knees in front of him.  She shoved the thoughts away, concentrating on his face, and the fact that she still wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted to punch it.

“What?” she said flatly, and he lifted a hand and let it fall against his thigh.

“It was good,” he said, more calmly.  “I didn’t grade it, as the deadline had passed, but if I had, it would have merited a B-plus.  Not far off an A.”

“So?” she spat.

“Are you deliberately provoking me, Miss French?” he growled, and she glared at him.

“No!” she snapped.  “But when I came to talk to you about turning things around, all you did was yell at me!  Why would I think you care?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, woman!” he barked.  “I _want_ you to do well, don’t you see that?”

Lacey glowered at him, not answering.  The streetlamps were shining on his hair, grey strands glinting silver, and his breath was a thick plume of white, rolling outwards from the heat of his mouth.  She wondered how hot his mouth would be.  Hot and wet, sharp with the taste of tobacco and the warmth of whisky.  She felt that familiar tug of arousal, the low-down pull of desire.

Rush let his irritation recede.  Beautiful as she was, she was only young, and he told himself that he shouldn’t allow her to get under his skin in this way.  He tried to remain calm, lifting his face to the heavens and sighing to let out some of the tension.

“Look, I shouldn’t have commented on your life outside university,” he said.  “As long as you do the work for my classes, it’s really no concern of mine what you get up to.”

Lacey eyed him with a flat expression for a moment, then let a slow smile steal across her face, a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“Really?” she said.  “Even when what I do involves hiring Rush two-point-oh for sexy times?”

He frowned, folding his arms across his chest and trying to ignore the vivid pictures created by her words.

“I presumed you were saying that in an attempt to make me uncomfortable,” he said stiffly, and she shrugged.

“Yeah, sorry to disappoint, big fella.  Would it make you feel even more uncomfortable if I told you I got him to spank me?”

Rush felt as though every drop of blood above his waist was suddenly heading at high speed towards his crotch, and he scowled as he tried to ignore his growing erection.  It was making it hard to think.

“Miss French!” he rasped, and she grinned.

“Yeah, I got him to call me that,” she said, and took half a step towards him, her eyes locking onto his and digging into his soul.  Her voice had dropped, its tone deeper, rounder, warm with promise.  Her lips were full, shining with dark lipstick, and he watched as the tip of her tongue swept across, leaving them glistening.

“I got him to call me Miss French,” she said, moving to within inches of him.  “I got him to tell me _exactly_ how disappointed he was with my performance, and I had him put me over his knee and spank me hard.”

He could feel his breath coming hard, his chest heaving, and he knew he should go, should leave her, should turn on his heel and walk away before it was too late.  There was a strange ringing in his head, a humming, crawling sensation beneath his skin, and he wanted to touch her, to take her arms and pull her close and press his mouth on hers.  To shove her back against the door of the apartment building and taste her.

“Well,” he heard himself say, his voice cracking a little.  “As I said, what you choose to do with your life is really none of my…”

“I had him spank me with a crop, too,” she interrupted, and her cheeks had flushed, her eyes large and bright.  “It left stripes on my butt that only just faded.  Afterwards he fingered me until I came and then ate me out on the bed.  I screamed so loud I thought we were gonna get thrown out of the hotel.”

Rush felt, rather than heard, the low noise that he made at the back of his throat.  She was too close, _far_ too close, and her breathing had quickened, matching his own, the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the quick, hot gasp of his breath.  He licked his lips nervously, and almost moaned as her eyes dropped to follow the sweep of his tongue.

“Miss French,” he whispered.

“Don’t Miss French me, you asshole,” she growled, and lunged to press her mouth on his.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter, in which Lacey and Rush work through their issues.
> 
> Naked.

Rush froze momentarily, the shock of her soft, warm lips making his eyes widen, but then his arms went around her and he dragged her against him before shoving her back against the door.  Lacey pushed her tongue between his lips, and he groaned into her mouth at the taste of her, sweet and delicious with a hint of the whisky she had been drinking.  Her hands were in his hair, fingers scraping against his scalp and sending shivers through him, and her body undulated against his, rubbing against him, making him harden in his jeans.  His hands moved, sliding down her sides, running over her curves, and she let out a tiny moan as he squeezed her, his thumbs rubbing over the taut nipples that he could feel through the thin silk of her shirt.  She tore her mouth from his, kissing down his neck, and the feel of her tongue on his pulse point made him growl.  Lacey dropped an arm, searching frantically in her bag, and he heard the faint jingle of keys.

“Come on up,” she whispered, her breath making him shiver.  “Come on up and fuck me hard.”

Rush was lost.  A part of his mind was screaming at him to pull away, to leave.  She was a student, she was way too young for him.  He shouldn’t even fucking _be_ here.  This was bad, this was bad, this was _multiple levels_ of bad, but she was beautiful and brilliant and she wanted him and it had been _so fucking long_ .  Her tongue swept up his neck, sending a shudder of pleasure through him, and he shut off the dim and feeble voice of his conscience and kissed her fiercely, pulling his mouth from hers to kiss down her throat and bite into the soft skin of her neck, making her yowl.  She fumbled her key into the lock, stabbing at it a few times before the fucking thing went inside, and they almost fell through the door, Lacey’s hot, wet mouth on his ear.  She dragged him towards the elevator, the door opening with a muted _ping_ , and slammed her hand against the button for the sixth floor, reaching up to kiss him again as the door closed.  Dimly, he hoped that there were no security cameras, but then Lacey slid her hand between his legs, cupping him, and all rational thought fled.

The elevator shuddered to a halt, and then her hand was in his, pulling him with her down the corridor to apartment sixteen.  The keys were flourished again, the lock turning as she kissed him, and they entered an apartment, dimly lit by a corner lamp.  Lacey shoved the door closed and turned the lock, grabbing his hand again and pulling him with her through the lounge area to a door off to the left.  Her bedroom, he presumed.  It was dark and cool, and she left his side for a moment to turn on a lamp, its light casting the room in shadow, the warm glow bathing her skin as she shrugged off her jacket.  Her bed was directly in front of him, a purple quilted throw over the top of white sheets, and he swallowed hard, suddenly hit by the fact that he was there, in her bedroom, having kissed her and groped her and wanting desperately to have sex with her, brainless idiot that he was.  Her eyes were wide and dark, her lips parted in arousal, and she walked purposefully over to him and took off his glasses, laying them on the dresser.  She pushed the jacket from his shoulders and down his arms, meeting his gaze with eyes that wanted to drink his soul.

“Lacey…” he began, and she sealed his lips with a finger.

“We can talk about it later,” she whispered.  “Just fuck me, Dr Rush.”

It was as though her words, her eyes, started a great red roaring deep in his blood, and he bent his head to kiss her, his hands slipping to her waist and pulling her close.  She began plucking at the buttons of his shirt, opening it up and getting her hands inside to brush over his chest.  Lacey made a sound of enjoyment, her tongue stroking against his, fingers running over his skin, and he started to pull at her buttons, fingers fumbling, his thumbs seeming too large and clumsy for the task.  He managed to get them open without ripping any off, and pulled back from her with a gasp of wonder as she shrugged off the shirt, letting it fall down her arms and flutter to the floor.  Her skin was pale and smooth, her small breasts pushed high in the black bra she wore, and he moaned as she reached behind to undo it and let it drop.  He stared at her, her curves perfect in the warm glow from the lamps, and she took his hand in hers and pressed it to her chest, letting him cup her.  His thumb brushed over her hardened nipple, and his cock twitched in his jeans.  God, he wanted to be inside her!

“Yes!” she whispered, as though she could sense it.  “Yes, I want you!”

She lunged to kiss him again, her mouth hot and sweet, but he suddenly grasped her shoulders with his hands, pushing her back, and she rolled her eyes.

“What?” she asked impatiently.  “Don’t start overthinking shit, okay?”

“No, I - it’s just…” he began.  “I - I don’t have any protection.  Obviously.  Not having gotten laid in five years.”

She bit her lip in amusement at the repetition of her earlier comment, and had the grace to blush a little.

“I have plenty,” she assured him.  “Nightstand.”

“Right.”

He hesitated, but she kissed him again, her hands dropping to his belt.

“Bed,” she murmured against him.

He had opened his mouth to say something else, but her tongue slipped against his, and he forgot what he had been thinking.  She pushed him back against the door and he let out a grunt of pleasure, sliding his hands up and down over her curves as they kissed.  Lacey pulled the shirt from his shoulders, kissing down his neck and over his chest and making him groan at the feel of her mouth on him.  Her lips sucked at his nipple, sending jolts of arousal through him, and he let his head fall back against the door with a low thud, his chest heaving.  

Lacey had managed to get his belt open, which was something she’d been thinking about in class for some time now, so she fully intended to make the most of it.  She deftly unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them down over his hips, and Rush scrabbled frantically at his feet, lifting one at a time and tugging at the laces of his shoes.  His lips slid against hers as he struggled, his stubble scratching her as he managed to pull the shoes off and let them fall to the floor with dull thumps.  She pushed at the jeans again, until they flopped down at his ankles, and he stepped out of them.  His cock was tenting the front of his underwear, and she reached between them to grip him hard, pulling a strangled gasp from him before she let go and grabbed his hand.

“Bed!” she repeated, and pulled him with her, Rush stumbling and throwing his arms wide to keep himself upright as she unzipped her skirt and let it fall.  He was watching her with wide eyes, and so she met his gaze, pushing her tights and panties down in one and straightening up to face him, completely naked.  He had a blank, almost panicked, rabbit-in-the-headlights expression on his face, and she smiled, taking slow steps around him and making him swivel, his body turning to keep her in sight, until his back was to the bed.  She put her hands on his waist, stroking down over his tight rear, and turned her face up to kiss him hungrily, a deep, growling noise coming from him as their tongues met, her hands sliding back around his waist, and up over the flat planes of his chest.  Pushing at him, she moved forward until the backs of his legs were against the bed, and he stumbled, the two of them falling together with a clink of knocked teeth and a smear of saliva and the squash of her soft flesh against him.

Wriggling, they managed to get all the way onto the bed, and Lacey began kissing her way down his throat and his thin chest, feeling the frantic thump of his heart against her lips.  She sucked at a nipple, her fingertips pinching at the other, and he swore under his breath, making her grin.  Her hands slid lower, beneath the waistband of his boxers, pushing them down over his hips, and she felt him suck in a breath and hold it for a moment, as though he were afraid.  Grinning to herself, she pushed them down his legs and off at his feet, noting that his black socks were still there, a little wrinkled around his ankles.  Crawling back up the bed on hands and knees, she began kissing his chest again, her lips pulling at the flesh, her tongue swirling over him.  

“Oh, God, Lacey!” he whispered, and she grinned, kissing lower, feeling the muscles of his stomach jumping against her lips.  She gently tugged with her teeth at the flesh below his navel, soothing the bite with a sweep of her tongue, moving lower.  His cock was hard against the top of her chest, and she raised her head a little to grin at him, noting the bright-eyed look of arousal, the way he was panting, his chest heaving.  She pushed herself up on her elbows a little to study him properly, tracing the line of his cock with one finger and hearing him groan.  It was hard and thick, a vein travelling up from the base to the soft, blunt head, and she drew the finger back down and around the soft sac of flesh that hung beneath, where his balls lay, full and heavy.  The thought of having him inside her, of having him come deep within her, made her stomach tighten and pull.

She lowered her head then, kissing the bone of his right hip, slowly trailing her lips across and feeling the coarse crush of his hair against her mouth.  He groaned a little, his hips rising instinctively, and she smiled to herself at his reaction.  Her tongue slipped out, licking across to the base of his cock, and his groan became an almost painful gasp.  She took his cock in her hand, gratified by the glistening bead of fluid that had formed at the end of it, and raised her head, meeting his eyes as she slowly licked her lips.

“Lacey, please!” he whispered desperately.  “Oh God, please!”

Grinning, she bent her head to him, drawing her tongue up the length of his cock to just below the head, and he groaned aloud, his hands dropping to fist in her hair.  

 _“Fuck!”_ he gasped.

She licked him again, the tip of her tongue teasing the crease beneath the head, enjoying the feel of him writhing beneath her.  Her tongue swept lower, curling beneath his balls, tasting salt and the heavy, musky scent of him, before trailing back up his length and running over the wet and glistening tip.  Rush gasped, hips rising up and falling back, and she swallowed, mouth watering at the taste of him.  She gripped him a little tighter, licking her lips again, and lowered her mouth onto him, taking him all the way inside.

Rush arched his back with a groan of pleasure, the feel of her hot, wet mouth around him an incredible sensation.  He wasn’t entirely sure that he hadn’t fallen asleep and dreamed this entire encounter, but if that were the case he didn’t want to wake up.  She was sucking at him, her mouth moving up and down his length while her hand slid against him, adding to the pressure, her fingers occasionally splaying out to stroke his balls.  The feel of it was enough to make him see stars, and if she didn’t stop very, very soon…

“Lacey!” he warned, and she seemed to sense it, letting him fall from her mouth with a pop and crawling back up his body to look down on him with a smug expression.  Well, two could play at that game.

“My turn!” he growled, and put his hands on her shoulders and rolled, pushing her onto her back.  She appeared to welcome it, kissing him hungrily before he could pull his mouth away and move down over her soft, pale skin, her breasts fitting perfectly in his hands as he sucked at the small, dusky-pink nipples.  Lacey moaned and writhed, pushing her pelvis up against him, and it took every bit of his self-control not to push her legs apart and sink into her, to bury himself in her.  He slid lower, kissing over her stomach, down between her legs where she was smooth and perfect and smelt incredible.  He could feel his mouth watering, and he pressed a kiss to her, feeling her fluids coat his lips with wetness.  He licked it off as Lacey moaned, and then slipped his tongue between her folds, encouraged by her cry of pleasure and the feel of her fingers twisting in his hair.  She tasted delicious, and he swept his tongue in circles, dipping into her, running over the hardened pearl of her clit, devouring her.

“ _Fuck_ , you taste good!” he rasped.  “So _fucking_ good, Lacey!”

She was panting for breath as he worked, her body tightening and tensing as she neared her climax, and her moans became cries as his chin moved over her tender flesh, the rasp of his stubble seeming to excite her.  Encouraged, he increased his pace, his chin rubbing over her, and she jerked up off the bed with a loud cry as she came, salty-sweet fluids bathing his tongue.  He sucked them from her flesh, groaning in pleasure, and she fell back against the bed, gasping for breath.

“Holy _fuck_ , that was amazing!” she breathed, and he kissed his way back up her body, his cock almost painfully hard.  She lunged to kiss him, rising upwards to capture his mouth with hers, pushing her fingers through his hair, still damp and sticky from her juices.  He rolled onto his side, pulling her with him, and she tore her mouth away, a frown creasing her brow.

“Goddammit, Rush, take your fucking socks off!” she gasped, and pushed him onto his back, crawling to the side to dig in the drawer of the nightstand.  He hurriedly tugged off his socks and threw them aside, and she straightened up, a foil-wrapped condom in her hands.  She tore it open, grasping him firmly with one hand to roll it on, and then straddled him, lining them up.

“You ready?” she asked, and he nodded, unable to speak.  Shooting him a grin, Lacey lifted her hips a little and then sank down onto him, her heat almost scalding.

 _“Fucking_ hell!” he gasped, his hands gripping her hips.

Lacey snickered, settling herself more comfortably as she felt him fill her.  It felt good, to finally have him inside her.  Right.  She had been surprised by the oral sex; granted, he had none of Gold’s refinement, but that was only to be expected.  He made up for it with enthusiasm, however, and she could certainly respond in kind.  She began to move, slowly at first, rocking back and forth, letting him pull out of her a little way before sliding back, and he groaned and let his head fall back against the pillows.

“Fuck, yeah!” she breathed, rocking her hips.  “You feel so fucking _good_ , do you know that?”

Rush groaned again, raising his head to look at her, and she grinned at him.

“You feel so hard inside me,” she went on.  “ _So_ hard, like you’re ready to burst.  Like you’re ready to come.  Squirt up inside me.”

“Oh _God,_ Lacey!” he moaned, and she quickened her movements, her hand on his belly, lifting her hips, riding him hard.  

“I’ve thought about this,” she whispered.  “I’ve thought about kissing you in your office.  Pushing you down on the floor and taking your cock right inside me!”

“ _Jesus_ , woman, you’re killing me!” he said breathlessly, and she leant forward a little, meeting his gaze.

“I’ve been wanting to fuck you for so long now,” she breathed.  “I wanna suck you until you come in my mouth, Rush.  Until you hit the back of my throat and squirt your load into me!”

Rush rose up off the bed with a growl, his eyes dark with lust, his mouth reaching for her as he sat up.  His arm went around her waist, holding her snug against him, and Lacey moaned into his mouth as he kissed her, his fingers pushing through her hair and pulling tight as his lips brushed over hers.

“You’ve got a dirty mouth!” he whispered.  “God, I’ve wanted to fuck you hard, Lacey!  Spread you out on my desk and finger that sweet little cunt until your cum runs down my hand!”

She moaned, pushing against him, his cock plunging into her as he rocked them back and forth, her arousal heightened by his words.  She swept her tongue up his neck, causing a groan from him, tasting salt, and rocked her hips, increasing the feel of him inside her.  The sensations were building within her, the friction from his body, from his hair, rubbing against her already tender flesh.  His cock was rigid, and he was almost there, she could sense it.  Her own climax was approaching, and she wanted him to join her.  Wanted to see him let go.

“Come for me, Rush!” she whispered.  “Come hard!”

He pushed up into her with a loud, groaning cry, and she felt him pulse, felt him come, his hips pumping against her.  She quickened her pace, rubbing against him until her own orgasm hit, and her cries joined his, pleasure making her entire body tingle and burn.  Lacey fell forward, her head flopping onto his shoulder as he sagged against her, his muscles loose.  She was gasping for breath, sweat beading on her forehead and upper lip, and as she pulled back a little he was looking at her with an expression of wide-eyed bewilderment.  Letting out a sigh, she leaned against him, and he collapsed down onto his back, pulling her with him with a grunt of satisfaction.

Lacey lay still for a moment, listening to the heavy thump of his heart, and then pushed herself up on her elbows to meet his eyes.  She was well aware that she had a very stupid grin on her face.

“Whoa!” she whispered.  “See?  Way better than yelling at each other, am I right?”

Rush blinked, looking as though he was in shock, and she giggled, pushing herself up straight so that she could grab the base of the condom and lift herself off him.  She rolled onto her back, flopping against the pillows with a sigh of contentment.

“Bathroom’s out there,” she said, waving at the door, and he pushed himself up off the bed and staggered out wordlessly.

Rush turned both ways when he came out of Lacey’s bedroom, hesitating when presented with two doors.  At first he tried the one across from her room, backing out hurriedly when what he found was obviously another girl’s bedroom, thankfully empty.  He imagined that Miss Lucas was her roommate; the two seemed very close.  The next door led to the bathroom, and he flicked on the light, closing the door behind him.  The bathroom was tiled with grey slate on the floor and around the shower, its walls painted a lighter colour.  He disposed of the condom, and washed his hands in the sink, glancing up at himself critically.  He looked like hell; his hair was all over the place, ruffled by her hands and sticky with her fluids.  The scent of her was all over him, heavy in his stubble and on the skin of his face and chest, and he leaned on the sink, shoulders sagging a little as he let out a heavy sigh.  

He had crossed a line, one had had thought he would never cross.  He had fucked a student; correction, he had eaten out a student and _then_ fucked her, and it had been the single most erotic experience of his life.  Images flashed through his head, images of Lacey astride him, her breasts bouncing as she moved, her lips parted in pleasure as she came.  He could still taste her on his tongue, and his cock twitched at the memory of licking her until she screamed.  In short, he was in deep shit, and he had no idea how to proceed.

“You’re a fucking idiot!” he told his reflection, and stomped out, back to the bedroom.

When he opened the door, Lacey was out of bed with her back to him, and his ears picked up the sound of something being poured.  She turned to face him, holding up a whisky glass with a generous measure in it.

“I - should probably go,” he said lamely, and she shrugged.

“You were at the bar for a drink,” she said.  “So here.  One for the road.”

He hesitated, then took it, watching her avidly as she climbed back into the bed and patted the sheets beside her.  He sat down, drawing up his feet and sipping at his whisky.  Lacey relaxed back with a sigh, and there was silence for a moment.

“I meant it, you know,” she said quietly.  “I really am gonna work harder.”

He didn’t respond, unsure what to say about her studies when he was sitting next to her completely naked.

“You were right to yell at me in the past,” she went on.  “But there won’t be any need in the future.  If I need to blow off steam I can just - come to your office, or something.”

Rush turned the glass between his fingertips, watching the whisky swirl.  He could feel her stare, and looked up to find her watching him with those wide eyes, her teeth tugging at her lower lip.

“You regret it, don’t you?” she said sadly.

He set his glass on the nightstand, turning to her and flicking his hair back.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted.  “I think I behaved rashly and irresponsibly, and if the university were to find out, I’d be even less popular than I currently am.”

She buried her nose in her glass, hunching a little, and he reached up to touch her cheek, turning her head towards him.

“But,” he said quietly.  “That was the most incredible thing that’s happened to me in years, so I can’t bring myself to regret it.”

Lacey grinned, setting down her own glass and turning onto her side to face him.

“Good,” she said.  “Because I owe you an orgasm, and I don’t like carrying debts.”

She slid an arm around his waist, her mouth seeking his, and he opened up for her kiss, pushing her back down into the blankets.  If hell existed, he was going there anyway.

 

00000

 

The unfamiliar sensation of light against his eyelids, and the press of a warm body, pulled Rush out of sleep.  He gently slipped out of Lacey’s arms, causing a murmur from her, and got out of the bed, scrabbling for his glasses and watch.

_“Fuck!”_

Eight o’clock.  Eight o-fucking-clock, and he had early class!  He began searching for his clothes, tugging on socks and looking frantically for his underwear.

“Time is it?” asked Lacey sleepily.

“Fucking eight a.m!” he snapped.

“Shit!”  

She threw back the bedclothes as he was buckling his belt - bugger the bloody underwear, he could collect it later - and he pulled on his shirt and buttoned it quickly.  They hadn’t had much sleep, spending the night finding new ways to pleasure one another, so when they had finally drifted off he had slept better than he had in years.  He stamped his feet in his shoes, bending to tie them, and snatched up his jacket, sending a still half-naked Lacey a look of desperation.  She nodded, bouncing up to him.

“We’ll talk later,” she said, and kissed him, her mouth warm and sweet.

He wrenched open the bedroom door, leaving her to it, and patted his pockets to make sure he still had the keys to his office.  Yes, good.

“Morning, Dr Rush.”

A bright, cheerful voice made him freeze, and he turned his head with a sinking feeling.  Miss Lucas was sitting on the couch, fully dressed, a cup in her hand, one dark eyebrow arched and a wide grin on her face.

“Coffee?” she asked innocently.  “I mean, I didn’t catch the whole show, but it sounds like you two were awake for most of the night.  I’m guessing you could use one.”

Rush growled under his breath, making for the front door and leaving her cackling with laughter behind him.  He was _definitely_ going to hell.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Vermillion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9921140) by [Emospritelet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet)




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